


Hello, My Old Heart (Jean x Reader)

by JeanBiscuit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Smut, just romance okay, my obsession for jean has reached a breaking point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 105,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanBiscuit/pseuds/JeanBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You, the reader, have just joined the 104th Trainees Corp, and guess who decides to waltz into your life and make it a living hell.  Jean Kirschtein is the exact opposite of what you would choose to associate with, but you, Marco, and Horseface become a tentative trio, Marco being the glue that holds it all together.  Throughout your trainee years, you and Kirschtein constantly bicker, trade insults, and loath each other with a burning, Hell-fire passion.  But oh, how things change.<br/>This fic follows you and Horseface through the events of the manga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Suck At First Impressions, Horseface

**Author's Note:**

> *This fic will contain violence, harsh language, and sexual themes and situations. Chapters containing extensive amounts of these will have warnings.  
> *This fic is designed for a female Reader, but feel free to interpret it any way you wish  
> *Slight tsundere!Reader  
> *I know that Hanji is canonically non-binary, but I chose to portray her as female in this fic.  
> *There will be small suggestions of other ships, such as Eren/Mikasa, Sasha/Connie, and Levi/Hanji.  
> *Events from the manga/anime will be adjusted to fit the reader's presence  
> *Decided to adjust the minimum age for military enrollment to 15, so when the kids graduate they're all 18 (did this because of the sexy times)  
> *This is a complete self-indulgence because Jean Kirschtein has taken over my entire existence.  
> Thank you for reading!

How funny, when you know you should be feeling so many things, to feel nothing at all.  How amusing to peruse the contents of the hollowness in your chest and find nothing but an ache.  A dark, hollow, painstakingly carved out hole right in the middle of your chest, and there is nothing but a dull feeling of something that once was.  How strange, to not remember what feeling whole was like.  How peculiar, to look at the people around you, and know that you should be happy, thankful that these select few escaped the (quite literal) jaws of death.  And yet you could do nothing but think of the smiles, dreams, and voices of those whose blood painted the banners you waved over your head.

How odd that one who never did anything but smile met his end alone, so far from home.

How bizarre that one who never did anything but complain, argue, and yell should survive the near-fall of humanity, the intrusion of Titans into all three of the walls, and being hunted by the Military Police.

How utterly mystifying that such an idiot would worm his way past your iron-clad walls of defense and straight to the very center of your being.

How extraordinary that you would fall in love with such an idiot.

Of course, the idiot was just a plain old idiot back then.

You hardly even wanted to utter his name, for fear of catching even an iota of his stupidity by making your vocal cords slave through that shit excuse of a name.   _Jean._ Jesus Christ, if there was an award for "Most Pretentious Name on the History of the Planet" then that stupid fucking Horseface would win it, hands down.  It also didn't help that almost no one could spell his last name.  Most stumbled over the foreign syllables, like sugar cubes lobbying for room over their tongue, and managed to garble out something resembling his stupid name.  He spent the better half of the first year correcting anyone who said it with even the slightest fault in enunciation, until you threatened to remove his eyes from his head with your bare hands.

But, we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Let's start at the beginning.

The two of you were born in the same year, in two different walls.  

_You_ were prim and proper on the outside; you sat through the lectures on being a lady, always crossing your legs, how to curtsy properly, etc, and allowed your mother to dress you up in fancy(ish) clothes.  And yet there was a constant fire in your eyes that burned just underneath the surface, masked by your layers of propriety and femininity. Occasionally, you allowed yourself brief moments of fury, your [e/c] eyes burning so brightly you forcefully imprinted yourself into people's memories. You instilled fear into the hearts of the boys who dared to dip the ends of your braids into ink pots while you weren't looking during school, learning to throw a punch by the tender age of 5, and able to flip a nearly-fully grown male onto his back at 12.  You loved it.  You loved simmering quietly underneath the surface, letting your fury lash out in brief flashes of light and power, like lightning, like a storm, a force of nature.  You loved receding back into tender, white, puffy clouds, but always with an inferno at the horizon, waiting, like a pot just about to boil over.

_He_ was brash and acidic from the very start; he came out fighting, and would likely go out the same way, if he had a say.  He cursed from the very moment he could talk, to the evident shock of his poor mother, who tried drilling some sense into that incredibly dense skull of his.  Needless to say, his mother's ministrations had no effect, and Jean Kirschtein spent his childhood years picking fights wherever he could, always sporting his trademark smirk.  He became one of those boys mothers don't want their children to play with, and fell in with a rather bad crowd.  But instead of being put in his place, as had been the plan, Jean Kirschtein smirked and sneered and insulted his way up to a place of grudging respect, so much so that it became a fundamental part of his personality.  His fury was always spilling out of him, out of his mouth and fists and feet, burning in all directions until everyone around him became accustomed to his heat.  Jean Kirschtein did not know that anger could be repressed, and was better left that way, did not know that the proverbial pot of his anger was always frothing over, didn't even know that such a pot existed.  Anger, for Jean Kirschtein, was all around him, in the air, surging in the ground under his feet, pumping through his bloodstream.  Anger was a part of his being, and he accepted it.  Every single problem he faced could be solved with a healthy dose of threatening and insults, and, if worst came to worst, fists.

That is, until he met you.

 You were a conundrum he could not solve with harsh words and seething rage, oh no, you refused to be pinned down.  You seared yourself across his eyelids like nobody ever had before; you were imprinted there so deeply he saw flashes of you wherever he looked.

He finally understood why storms were named after people.

But before all of that, before everything, the both of you were simply two 15 year olds fresh off of your birthdays, enlisting in the military, packing up your things and leaving home without quite knowing what you had signed yourselves up for. 

And that was how the two of you came to be standing next to each other on a blistering summer day, uncomfortable in your new uniforms, anxiety levels rising by the second as the drill sergeant from Hell, Keith Shadis, started breaking in the new recruits.

The most you remember of that day was that it was hot.  Blisteringly so.  Your white, crisp, unbearably tight new trousers chafed against your skin, your new leather jacket sat on your shoulders so heavily it felt like the weight of another person, and the arches of your feet were aching in your new dark brown military boots. 

All in all, it was nothing short of hell. 

It didn’t help that Keith Shadis, the official in charge of the trainees, was one of the scariest individuals you had ever seen in your entire life.  His bald head would’ve been comical if not for the yellow sharpness of his eyes and the volume of his shouting, which brought back memories you would rather forget.

He was currently interrogating a poor black-haired girl in pigtails who was on the verge of tears, two rows down from you.  But from the way he sporadically skipped from trainee to trainee, leaving some alone entirely and bellowing at others for minutes on end, he could reach you at any time.  You sighed and resisted the urge to run your hand through your hair.  You knew breaking ranks would only get you a one-way ticket to stable duty for the next three years.

As Shadis moved on to the next trainee, you let a soft exhale escape your lips and rolled your shoulders, trying to make the stiff leather jacket even a bit more comfortable.  After a few moments of rolling and jerking your muscles, you realized that there really was no way to make this goddamned thing more comfortable, so you resigned yourself to looking at the people around you.

On either side of you were two boys. The one on the left was okay looking, he was tall, muscular (way too muscular for someone of 15, you thought), had close-cropped dark hair, and eyes nearly the same color.  Despite his large build, he seemed rather docile, his posture relaxed, his eyes soft.  Definitely not a contender for the top 10, you thought shrewdly.  You wondered why he joined the military.  Pressure from family and friends?  A genuine desire to save humanity? 

Which made you wonder, why were you here again?  You didn’t really have any explicit desire to join the Military Police, like most of the cadets here.  Unlike them, you had seen the full extent of the Police’s brutality, long, long ago, in dark corners of your mind you preferred not to visit.  You didn’t want anything to do with those stuck-up, useless idiots.

All you knew was that you wanted to get out.  All your life you had been trapped in a narrow, suffocating box of womanhood and femininity, of frilly dresses and quiet, sweet demeanors.  Maybe that’s why you joined the military.  To finally wear pants for once in your goddamn life, for one, and to have some outlet for the anger constantly bubbling inside of you, for another.  What better way to work out your issues than to turn them into a fierce drive to kill Titans? 

But that was where your courage failed.  You didn’t want to die.  Dear God, you didn’t want to die.  You could still remember their eerie, leering faces.  You quickly banished the image from your mind.  It would be completely embarrassing to have a panic attack now.  You just had to stuff it away until you were alone again. 

But damn it all, you just wanted to be _free._ Which was very cliché, you often noted, but nevertheless true.  You didn’t want to spend your life tucked away in the innermost wall, picking on the less fortunate for fun.  You also didn’t want to spend it in monotony, assigned to some district no one cared about to stride on top of a wall all day.  No matter how valiant “Garrison” sounded, it certainly wasn’t so in real life.

And so, you had one option left.  The Scouting Legion.  The branch for lunatics and people looking to die, everyone said.  The infamous branch who returned from every expedition with less than half of the people they had departed with, the branch whose percentage of casualties was so high it was barely worth calculating.

Is this what you wanted to do?  Spend the majority of your shortened life fighting Titans, and one day meeting your end in one’s jaws?  You shuddered at the thought.

You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts from your brain like annoying insects.  You had three years to worry about that.

In the meantime, you still had some people-watching to do, as Shadis interrogated a boy down your line with short, cropped blond hair, whose you name you heard him stutter as Thomas Wagner.

Careful not to turn your head, you shifted your vision to the boy at your right.

And oh hot damn, was he something.

Granted, his hair was a little weird, with the messy flop of coppery-blond locks on top of a dark brown undercut, but the way his muscles moved as he shifted from foot to foot, obviously nervous, was extremely appealing.  They were the muscles of a fighter.  You should know, you had those same muscles yourself, from years of beating up boys who dared to disrespect you. 

You allowed yourself to turn your head a fraction to the side to get a better look at him.

He had a clean-cut, sharp jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and a long, straight nose, which made him look sort of horse-like, now that you thought about it. Nevertheless, he had the most piercing amber eyes you had ever seen.  The shoulder muscles rolling beneath his jacket were exquisite, and you could see the barest outlines of some impressive abdominal muscles underneath his shirt.  He wasn’t built like a tank, like the boy to your left; he was lean, sinewy, and rough around the edges, built for agility and whip-like flashing strength.  At least, you thought so, but you had always been rather shrewd. 

As you were lost in thought of the boy to your right (hey, you were 15, after all), Shadis made his way down your line, and you were jolted out of your reverie by his booming voice speaking only a few trainees down to your right.

A tall, freckled boy stood in front of the instructor, visibly trembling, but trying to keep his cool as he stuttered out his wish to give his body in service to the king.  (You thought his name was Marco, if you heard correctly.)

Shadis was silent for a few moments, before saying in a significantly lower volume, “Oh, I see. What a patriot.  You’ve got the right idea.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.  Was this seriously the same person who had nearly brought five trainees to tears?

“But y’know. . . .,” he continued, suddenly shoving his face so close to Marco’s that the poor boy was visibly uncomfortable, “the King doesn’t need a talking stack of shit.”

And with that, he moved away with a bellow of, “You’re next!” leaving Marco hyperventilating, his knees quivering.

You would have gone over to see if he was alright, if Shadis hadn’t stopped immediately to your right, giving you a mini-heart attack.

“Who the hell are you?” he barked, his intimidating image making the boy to your right seem very small.

“I’m Jean Kirschtein, sir!  I’m from Trost, sir!” the boy chanted back, saluting perfectly.

You almost laughed out loud.  _Jean?_ What kind of a bullshit name was that?  The amount of arrogance in those few syllables made you want to gag.  In all of your years of life, you had never met someone with so pretentious a name.  Hopefully he didn’t have a personality to match, you silently prayed.

“Why are you here?” Shadis yelled back.

Jean smirked, and rage bubbled inside of you.  You had seen that smirk many times before.  That was the smirk of a grade-A asshole. You groaned inwardly.  Why were the attractive ones always such douchebags?

“To join the Military Police and live in the interior, sir,” Jean replied, his cockiness painfully evident in the quirk of his eyebrows.

The blatant honesty of this statement sent a rustling through the trainees, barely perceptible, and disgust rose in your throat, your hands clenching at your sides.

“Oh?  So you wanna live in the interior?” Shadis asked, leaning back and looking at Kirschtein haughtily.

“Yessir!” Kirschtein chirped back, a look of hopefulness on his face before Shadis’s head slammed into his, sending poor Horseface to his knees.

You didn’t feel that bad, actually, as you bit the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing.

“You taking a shit down there?!” Shadis bellowed as Jean whimpered at his feet.  “You think you can join the Military Police if you can’t even take _that?!”_

Before you could even begin to collect yourself, Shadis was standing in front of you, glaring at you with those frightening eyes of his.

You scrambled to get your expression under control, and looked back at the instructor steadily, but you were already twisting the ring on your right hand furiously in anxiety.

He stared at you for a few moments, and complete silence reigned over the field.  Everyone was waiting expectantly for Shadis to blow your eardrums out like he had many others.

You almost broke eye contact.  Panic fluttered in your chest, and the twisting of your ring became so fervent that you felt it cut a gash in your finger.  But you forced yourself to think of all the boys who had ever taunted you, all the boys three times your size who you had defeated easily, how hard you had worked to survive in Wall Rose after your town in Maria had been trampled, how hard you had worked to get to this point, and your eyes hardened into cold steel.

You stared into the instructor’s eyes, wiping yours of any emotion besides absolute determination.

Shadis leaned back with a soft “Ooohh…,” before smirking and moving on to the boy to your left.

You almost dropped to your knees right there out of relief.  You had passed some sort of unspoken test, one only a select few had escaped.  You made an about face at Shadis’s orders, and sneaked a glance out of the corner of your eye over to Jean.

He was desperately trying to collect himself, still trembling on his knees.  Shadis’s head must’ve been harder than it looked, and it already looked like a boulder covered in a thin layer of skin.   If you had to guess, you’d say he was trying desperately not to cry.

You let out an audible sigh.  You were in no way a sympathizer of douchebags, but maybe you had this Jean guy pegged all wrong.  Maybe he had put up a cocky front just to try to impress the instructor.  You had met plenty of people like that.

Eventually, the softer side of you won over, and making sure Shadis was far enough away (you couldn’t believe you were risking three years of stable duty for this idiot), you strode over to stand in front of poor Horseface. 

Crouching down to his level, you asked as quietly as you could, “You okay, there?”

“Do I look okay?” Kirschtein hissed back, glaring up at you from underneath his hands that were still cradling his forehead.  “I think my skull is in pieces.”

You shoved down your annoyance, because you knew that if you were in his situation you would be acting the same way.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you to an infirmary after this is over, now could you please just stand up so we don’t get in more trouble?” you asked impatiently, standing up and extending a hand.

He glared at you questioningly, but slowly extended a hand of his own, took yours (oh wow did his hands feel warm) and shakily rose to his feet.

“Lemme see that,” you said matter-of-factly, impatiently brushing his hands away from his forehead.

You gently poked and prodded at his head, softly turning it, your hands resting on his cheeks.  You failed to notice the bright red blush creeping over his cheeks.

“Well, you seem fi –,” you started, but Horseface quickly interrupted you.

“What’s your problem?!” he snapped, swatting your hands away and shoving you back by the shoulders.  “No one asked you to help me!”

Your momentary shock at his rudeness quickly turned to anger.

“It’s called trying to be a decent fucking human being, you should try it for once,” you retorted venomously, your eyes narrowing dangerously.

He blinked at your sudden ferocity, but his anger swiftly returned.

“And what’s with you, anyway?!  How’d you manage to escape Rockhead’s bellowing, huh?!  What, did you lose your mommy and daddy two years ago?  Have your wittle town demolished?  Your life shattered?  Why don’t you just leave here and get back in the kitchen,” he sneered, saying the last three sentences in a baby-voice.

His words hit you like a truck, and you knew he could tell.  He had crossed a line, and he knew it, whether he had done it unintentionally or not.  Memories rose unbidden to your mind, of large, leering faces with blood dripping from in between their teeth, the screams of the town folk as they met their end slowly, painfully, the blood, oh, god, there was so much blood –

Bile rose in your throat and you desperately tried to control yourself, cursing this stupid fucking horse face that managed to affect you so.  You dropped your vision, arms circling around yourself, breaths shakily entering and exiting your lips.

Kirschtein looked extremely taken aback at your reaction, and was reaching out with one hand to apologize, or something (god, why did he have to say that, why, why, why) –

But he never quite got there.

It was that last comment that got you.

“ _Why don’t you just leave here and get back in the kitchen?”_

Oh, if you had a dollar for every time some asshole had said that to you, you would be richer than the King himself. 

And hearing that oh-so-familiar line coming from someone who was supposed to be only three years away from an adult, and from someone who had just brought back a whole slew of memories you had carefully buried within you, well….

Anger suddenly flared inside of you, white hot and burning, searing the air around you with such force that everyone within a ten foot radius could feel it. You glanced up, [e/c] eyes flashing furiously, and before Kirschtein quite knew what was happening, you had pivoted back, one foot anchored to the ground, the other swinging behind you, your arms flying to  the sides for balance, your right foot whipped out –

And connected with poor Horseface’s jaw.

As he cried out, falling to the ground, clutching his jaw and trying to set it back in the proper position, you stood there, foot slowly lowering, fury burning so hot inside of you that you never thought it would go out.

But your voice was deadly quiet as you spoke down to him, “You suck at first impressions, Horseface.”

And, just on cue, Shadis announced that the troops could disband to their barracks, and you strode away, leaving Kirschtein writhing on the ground and all of the cadets staring at you, some in horror and astonishment, others in grudging respect and admiration.

What a wonderful first impression, indeed.

 

 

 

 


	2. Dislocating Someone's Jaw is the First Step to Friendship, Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be one of the only Jean POV chapters I'll do. I just wanted to start the fic with their two differing personalities, most of the chapters here on out will be from the Reader's POV, with possible little bits of Jean POV in between.  
> Also, if you are so inclined, you can follow me on tumblr: jean--biscuit.tumblr.com  
> If you have any prompts or anything, you can send me an ask there!

Jean was already having a bad day.  Even before getting head-butted by a man with a titanium skull and getting round housed in the face, even before stepping out of his house in Trost that day. 

He had woken up in a cold sweat that morning, screams of the dying slowly fading from his eardrums.  He had clutched the bed sheets, shuddering uncontrollably, the images from his nightmare seared behind his eyelids: large, leering faces, screaming, blood, oh god there was so much blood, and one person who shone brighter than all the others.  All he could remember of her face (and he had been certain it was a her) was her smile, bright, warm, and ferocious all at the same time, he remembered crimson blood spurting from between her lips, tainting her white, happy, laughing smile the color of death,  as the giant hand wrapped around her torso.  He remembered screaming her name.

What was her name?

He grumbled, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.  He was still shaking, whether from the icy sweat clinging to him or from the dream, he could no longer tell.  Groaning, he tumbled out of bed, determined to push the nightmare from his mind.

But it persisted, all through breakfast, making his spoon clang loudly against his cereal bowl as he shook, making his mother look at him strangely.  Every time he heard the crunch of food beneath his teeth he remembered the crunch of bodies within abnormally straight, giant ones, and he was almost sick.

Why was this bothering him so much?  He had never so much as glimpsed a titan before.  He had only a faint idea of what they looked like, from the Garrison soldiers running their mouths in town.  And yet the dream had been so clear, almost as if it was a memory.

God, he hoped it wasn’t a prophecy or something.  He was too tired for that shit.  Lay the mystic prophet burdens on someone else.  The last thing he needed was to be having premonitions left and right. 

But eventually, as the morning passed on, the dream started to dissipate from Jean’s mind, like mist in the morning sun.  The excitement over today, the day he was finally to join the military, started to return, and soon enough he was bounding around the house, making sure everything was in absolute perfect condition.

After scrubbing his leather jacket once more, to make sure there wasn’t even one single speck of dust, he slowly slipped his new uniform on.

The trousers were a little tight, the jacket a little restricting and heavy, but when he looked in the mirror, at his tall, lanky, decidedly official appearance, his heart swelled.  He was finally able to get out of the house, away from his over-bearing parents, away from all the idiotic neighborhood kids who he had long wanted to stop hanging out with. 

_He_ was enlisting into the _military,_ a place of prestige, solemnity, and status.  He had been one of only a few in Trost to enlist, being one of the only ones who either was ready to face the hell of training head on, or really didn’t know what he had signed up for.

Jean was the latter, even though he didn’t know it. 

His things were packed, everything was in order, and before his parents could get a proper goodbye out of him, he was out the door, throwing a wave over his shoulder, striding purposefully towards the wagons that were to take him to the trainee grounds.  He was a _man_ now, he was in the _military._ No more backstreet alleyway fighting for him, no more rolling around in the mud with the local orphans, oh no, he was going to be a calm, cool, collected military man, who would never even deign to look at the street urchins. 

The wagon was stuffed over capacity, Jean was crammed between two outrageously horriblesmelling boys, but he didn’t even care.  He was on his way to the Military Police, he was confident he would trample the competition, be Number 1 in the trainee corps, and stand on a tall podium of victory as the other lesser trainees applauded him and screamed his name at his feet.

He was so caught up in his delusions of grandeur that he didn’t even notice his trademark shit-eating grin spreading across his face, resulting in the other trainees looking at him strangely and trying to get as far away from him as possible.

Oh, but could he imagine it!  All the power, money, women (oh, especially women) that he could want, heck, maybe he’d succeed the King himself!  Maybe he’d be such an admirable general, such an influential person, the strongest person around, that the King would just throw the crown at his feet.

King Jean did certainly have a ring to it.

Finally, with a jolt, the wagon ground to a halt, and the trainees were instructed to depart single file, walking in military straight lines toward an open field, where they would be placed into lines and told to wait for further instructions.

Jean was placed between a boy with sweeping blond hair and an obviously nervous girl who was twisting a ring on her finger behind her back.

The boy to his right didn’t seem to be anything special, he had no obvious muscles, he was skinny, only about 5’5’’ in height, with long bangs sweeping over his eyes that would surely impede his 3dmg use.  Definitely not a contender for the top 10, Jean scoffed inwardly.

He glanced to the girl at his left, and did a double take.

Because _damn._

She had shining [h/c] hair, piercing [e/c] eyes, and the most impressive musculature he had ever seen on a woman.  She was rolling her shoulders, trying to subtly adjust her heavy leather jacket, and the muscles rolling and extending underneath the material were decidedly nice-looking.  She had defined calf muscles, and the ghost of abs flexing under her shirt.  Usually Jean thought women with muscles looked strange and disproportionate, but she was an exception.  She was soft curves and hard, defined muscles at the same time, he was attracted to the soft curve of her waist and the roundness of her hips, as well as the flexing of her biceps as she continued to twist the ring on her finger, and the way her calf muscles extended and contracted as she shifted from foot to foot.

She exhaled, soft breath billowing from between two plump, pink lips, and warmth spread in Jean’s lower abdomen. 

_Damn, control yourself!_ Jean snapped to himself, trying to imagine the most non-sexual thing possible.  The image of his mother in a swimsuit quickly did the trick, and he resolved to not look at this muscular girl for the rest of the initiation.

He was interrupted from berating himself by the incredibly loud, booming voice of the instructor, who was obviously trying to make sure the residents of the Northern Districts heard him as well.

As he continued to yell, Jean’s mind drifted away, and he glanced to the people around him, trying to gauge just who would be competition.

Definitely the girl to his left (who he still refused to look at), a large, tank-like boy with short cropped blond hair, a small blonde girl with the scariest eyes he had ever seen, and possibly a boy with startling green eyes and dark brown hair a few rows down, who had a deep scowl etched on his face, but for what reason, Jean couldn’t be sure. 

Perhaps it was just his natural facial expression.

Now the trainees’ instructor, Keith Shadis, was making his way down the lines, stopping in front of a select few troops and proceeding to blow out their eardrums until they were nearly to tears.

_Why is he skipping some?_ Jean wondered idly, as Shadis bypassed a tall, dark-skinned girl with her short black hair in a ponytail, and an extremely tall, sweating, dark-haired boy who looked as though he was going to faint right then and there.

Agitation fluttered in his stomach, and he gulped.  Would he be subject to that deafening initiation rite?  The poor black-haired girl in pigtails Shadis was interrogating now looked on the verge of tears as she shouted her answers back to him, her voice cracking. 

Time whittled by, Jean trying not to have improper thoughts of the girl next to him all the while.  God, did she have to shift around so much?!  There was nothing more he wanted to do at that moment than run his hands over those defined shoulder muscles, down her abdomen, he wanted to take her hands in his and see if she had rough calluses like him or if her skin was still soft, he wanted to bury his face in the crook of her neck and kiss along her jawline –

Now a certain – ahem – little soldier was standing at attention, and Jean swore under his breath.

_Mom in a swimsuit, Mom in a swimsuit, Mom in a swimsuit –_

Suddenly a very large, very imposing shadow obstructed his field of vision, and he nearly jumped a foot in the air.  Keith Shadis was standing in front of him, staring down at him with those cold yellow eyes of his, and Jean’s boner died almost as immediately as it had started.

_Nothing like scare tactics to make you go limp –_

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!” Shadis boomed, and Jean resisted the urge to wince. 

“I’m Jean Kirschtein, sir!  I’m from Trost, sir!” Jean barked, snapping to attention and pressing his right fist to his heart.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” Shadis retorted.

Jean involuntarily smirked, his visions of him standing above everyone, a crown on his head, filling him with glee.

“To join the Military Police and live in the Interior, sir,” he replied, and he felt the ripple go through the trainees.  You weren’t supposed to say that.  You were supposed to proclaim how you wanted to devote yourself to humanity.  Granted, it hadn’t worked out very well for the others, but that was still what custom dictated.

“Oh?  So you wanna live in the interior?” Shadis asked in a significantly lower volume, rocking back on his heels and looking down his nose at the trainee in front of him.

“Yessir!” Jean chirped, a smile spreading over his face before the head of the instructor came at him with such velocity that he didn’t have any time to react.

Keith Shadis’s head smashed so hard into Jean’s that he swore he could feel his brain rattling around in his head.  Jean collapsed to his knees, swearing under his breath and clutching his forehead.  It was like every bad headache he had ever had multiplied by 10, spots of color flashed before his eyes and he just wanted to curl up into a ball and pass out, just so the pain would go away.

“YOU TAKING A SHIT DOWN THERE?!” Shadis bellowed, and Jean tried to stand up, but as his head rose another blinding flash of pain shot through his forehead and he crashed back to the ground.  “You think you can join the Military Police if you can’t even take _that?!”_

Jean wanted to yell.  Oh, did Jean want to yell.  He wanted to scream and swear and show the instructor that he _was_ good enough for the Military Police, he _could_ handle it; he just didn’t think that getting your skull smashed was in the job description.

Shadis moved to the girl to his left, and Jean cracked an eye open to look.

  
The girl was visibly shaking, twisting her ring so fervently around her finger that she carved a gash into her hand.  But then she took a deep breath, her shaking steadied, she stood to attention, and when she opened her eyes, they were cold and hard and oh so full of pain, they were full of the things she had seen and the things she had done; she stared back at the instructor with every ounce of steel in her that she possessed.

Shadis rocked back on his heels with a soft “Oooohh. . . .,” smirked, and moved on.

Jean was incredulous.  Furious.  How had she managed to escape Shadis, and he hadn’t?! 

He heard a loud sigh, and then suddenly a pair of boots blocked his vision and he heard a voice – a _female_ voice – say from above him, so quietly that only Jean could hear, “You okay, there?”

“Do I look okay?” Jean snapped, glaring up towards the voice, and then he balked.  It was _her._ But his vocal cords hadn’t quite caught up yet, and he continued, “I think my skull is in pieces.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you to an infirmary after this is over, now could you please just stand up so we don’t get in more trouble?” she asked impatiently, and extended a hand.

Jean glared at her questioningly, and slowly took it.

It was as much of an oxymoron as the rest of her was: soft and hard at the same time, the pads of her fingers rough with calluses, her palms unbelievably soft, and Jean’s head spun.

He shakily rose to his feet, grabbing her hand harder than he had intended. 

“Lemme see that,” the girl said in a business-like tone, and brushed Jean’s hands away from his forehead and stepped forward, becoming unbearably close to his face.

She gently started to poke and prod at his head, her hands resting on the sides of his face.  Jean could feel his face heating up, his heart was racing at her proximity, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her lips, they looked so soft, so utterly kissable –

“Well, you seem fi --,” she began, but in a sudden burst of irritation, Jean interrupted her.

“What’s your problem?” he snapped, swatting her hands away and shoving her back by her shoulders – oh those muscles really did feel very, very nice, but that was beside the point.  She had just made the unshakeable Jean Kirschtein blush – this was unforgivable.  “No one asked you to help me!”

She blinked twice, and then her eyes narrowed to cold, hard slits.  The sight of it made Jean gulp in fear.

“It’s called trying to be a decent fucking human being, you should try it for once,” she retorted, venom almost visibly dripping from her words, and Jean was taken aback.  He had never heard a female speak like that before.  It was almost as if she could rip his head off with mere words alone. 

But after marveling at this strangeness, his volatility returned, and the words that came spilling out of his mouth were ones that he would regret for years to come.

“And what’s with you, anyway?!  How’d you manage to escape Rockhead’s bellowing, huh?!  What, did you lose your mommy and daddy two years ago?  Have your wittle town demolished?  Your life shattered?  Why don’t you just leave here and get back in the kitchen.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.  More so when he saw her reaction.

It was as if she had collapsed in on herself, like a stack of cards.  And _he_ had done that.  The ferocity and steel in every inch of her body was gone, her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and he could see the memories flicking through her head.  God, he was such an idiot.  He needed to learn to control his mouth.  He slowly started to extend a hand, about to form an apology, when her vision snapped back up, her spine straightened, and there was frightening brutality in those eyes.  Those eyes were ones that had beaten the shit out of many people, and wouldn’t mind going for another.

Before he could even move an inch, she had twisted back, one foot anchored to the ground, the other swinging behind her, her arms flying out for balance, and before he could even muster a defensive stance her foot was flashing out, straight into his jaw.

As if the initial headache wasn’t bad enough. 

It felt as if his head was being forcefully pulled from his shoulders, and was imploding on itself, all at the same time.  He fumbled for his jaw, and it felt _wrong,_ it felt out of place, he couldn’t open it, he couldn’t move it, and then he realized that just one kick from that girl had dislocated, and possibly shattered parts of, his jaw.  He writhed on the ground in pain, clutching at his face, his head, and the pain was so intense he thought for sure he would die.

But he still heard the words she spoke to him, in a voice so murderous it chilled him to the bone, “You suck at first impressions, Horseface.”

Jean heard Shadis yell that they were dismissed, and he watched the girl’s feet stride away.

He couldn’t help but notice her impressive behind, though.

Hey, he was 15.

“Hey, uh, Kirschtein!  You okay?” a voice called from above him, and his vision swiveled to a short bald kid standing in front of him, crouched down, red marks blossoming from his temples.

If Jean remembered correctly, this kid was Connie Springer, the one lifted in the air by his head by the instructor.  Frankly, Jean was surprised the kid’s head was still attached.

Jean managed a strangled noise from between his lips, and Connie leaned in for a closer look.

“Oh man, she got you good.  That was one nice kick.  I’ll have to congratulate her on that later.”

The rage boiling from Jean’s eyes at that moment was enough to convey the message.  Quickly shutting up, Connie called over a girl named Sasha, who was holding a baked potato in one hand.  They grabbed Jean under each arm, and helped him wobble towards the short, unappealing brown buildings in the distance.

All around him Jean heard the other trainees discussing that absolutely marvelous kick by that girl, and how messed up Jean’s jaw surely was.

He would’ve started throwing punches if he wasn’t in such agony. 

Eventually, Connie and Sasha dumped him inside the infirmary, and left without even a glance back. Connie was instead asking Sasha to show him how to sneak into the kitchens.

Jean collapsed onto a bed with crisp white sheets, and moaned pitifully.  He would be damned if he didn’t milk this for all it was worth. 

A nurse quickly rushed over, a tired looking middle-aged woman with a cigarette clenched between her teeth.  Her greying hair was pulled up in a tight bun underneath her nurses’ crown thing, her hands stuffed in her lab coat’s pockets.

“What seems to be the problem?” she mumbled around the cigarette, and Jean gesticulated to his jaw.  The nurse stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table, and stepped forward for a better look.  She whistled softly.  “Jesus, someone kick you in the face, or something?”

Jean nodded wildly, which only caused him to moan louder.

“Well, geez, how much of an asshole were you being?” the nurse joked as she rushed off to the medical cabinet.

_A pretty big one, come to think of it,_ Jean thought dejectedly.  Any chance he might have had with that girl was basically gone now.  She probably hated his guts.  She would probably slit his throat in his sleep for the things he said to her.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course.

The nurse came back, medical supplies overflowing from her arms.  She dumped them on the bed, then placed both hands on the side of Jean’s jaw, readjusted his neck position, then looked him square in the eyes and said, “This _will_ hurt.”

Jean wasn’t even able to gesticulate in protest before she sharply jerked his jaw to one side, snapping the bones back in place.

Jean howled, arching off of the bed, wishing for the sweet embrace of Death to end the pain.  Not really, of course. 

“Oh, calm down,” the nurse snapped as she wrapped a bandage under his chin and over the top of his head, tying it in a knot on top.  “Sorry, bucko, looks like you won’t be having dinner tonight.  Leave that on until tomorrow morning; don’t open your mouth real wide for around six weeks.  Oh, and gimme the name of that girl that kicked you, I wanna congratulate her.”

Jean glared at her, but she just laughed and walked away, to do other nurse things, he presumed.

Suddenly a figure flitted in Jean’s peripheral vision, and he turned to see _her_ standing in the doorway.

She was breathless, cheeks flushed, impressive shoulder muscles rising up and down at a rapid rate.  She locked eyes with him, and the nurse turned to her, a new cigarette already between her teeth.

“You the person that kicked him?” the nurse asked, jerking her thumb towards Jean.  The girl nodded, her eyes still flicking over Jean’s face, the bandages around his head.  “Good job,” the nurse said with a laugh and a wink before bustling off.

Jean’s eyes narrowed as she slowly walked over to his bed, hands clasped in front of her. 

“Whuh d’yoo wan’?” Jean mumbled, his voice constricted by the bandages around his head.

She held up her hand, which was now covered in blood from the gash she had carved in her finger from her ring.  The blood had even soaked into the sleeve of her shirt.

Jean’s eyebrow twitched.  He really wanted to be mad at her.  He really did.

Grumbling to himself, he reached over to his bedside table and threw a roll of bandages in her general direction.

She caught it with lightning fast precision, and strode over to the washbasin, where she quickly dunked her hands in and started wrapping the bandages around her finger.

“Hey . . . listen,” she began softly, eyes intent on her finger.

Jean turned to look at her, blinking.

“Sorry,” she said swiftly, tying off the bandages with her teeth.  “I probably shouldn’t have kicked you.  I mean, ‘cause of your head and all.  I mean, any other day I would have kicked you, but kicking you after you got your head smashed in probably wasn’t the best idea.”  She turned to look at him.  Jean immediately turned red, the way her [e/c] eyes were staring at him intently.

He wasn’t sure whether that was an apology or not.  She was sorry for kicking him, but she would do it again.  He shook his head.  This girl just got more confusing by the minute.

“Shorry, too,” he managed to grind out.  “Didn’ mean tuh say that.  My vocuh co’ds have a mind o’they own.”

She snorted, but smiled nonetheless. 

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

He nodded, and she laughed, tucking her head to hide her smile.  He wanted to tell her to lift her head so he could see it, he had a strange feeling that he _needed_ to see it.  But her laugh was compensation enough.  It was like every warm, happy feeling he had ever gotten in the course of his life all jumped together inside his stomach.  Warmth spread through his abdomen, and he couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Well,” she said, placing her hands on her knees and standing up, “I just wanted you to know that I accept your apology, and acknowledge that you most likely didn’t mean it, but I am not going to forgive you.  Just so you know.”

She turned to leave, but stopped, glancing over her shoulder and saying back to him, “Oh, and my name’s [Last], by the way.  [First] [Last].”

And she strode out without another word, leaving Jean to wonder what fresh hell had been dumped on him this time.


	3. A Goddamn Parade of Idiots

The moment after you did it, you were sorry.  As you were walking away, fury radiating in every molecule of your being, you wanted to run back and apologize and you didn’t know _why._ Why was this asshole any different from the others you had round housed?  You surmised that it was merely because the poor guy had been head-butted with the force of a thousand Colossal Titan kicks, and you had just made it worse.  You cursed your impetuosity, your ability to just start throwing kicks and punches before actually considering what the hell you were doing. 

But you didn't turn back.  Your pride wouldn't allow that.  You walked on, past the other trainees who had been shocked into silence.  You were surprised Shadis hadn’t seen that little show and come over to smash both of your skulls in.  Maybe he thought Jean had it coming. 

Just the mere thought of his name made you scowl.  What an utter fucking asshole, calling you weak, because of your past, and because of your gender, of all things.  What a fucking idiot. 

You reached the girls' barracks, threw open the door, and were greeted with wide eyes and quickly hushed conversation. 

Inside was a girl with long black hair and a red scarf wrapped securely around her neck, a short blonde girl with wide blue eyes and a taller dark-skinned one with black hair in a ponytail who stood together, a short girl with black hair in two pigtails, and a short blonde one with the scariest eyes you had ever seen.

“Hey,” you said conversationally, shutting the door behind you.

“Nice kick there,” the dark-skinned girl said with a wicked grin. 

You blinked.  You hadn't actually expected anyone to respond.

“It seemed effective.  You’ll have to teach me,” said the girl in the red scarf, giving you the faintest of smiles.

“So, what’s your name?” the short blonde girl with the wide eyes piped up, her voice so high and pretty you almost expected her to sprout angel wings and fly off into the sky.

“[Last].  [First] [Last],” you said, nodding to each of them in turn.

“I’m Mina.  Mina Carolina,” the girl in pigtails said with a smile.

“Mikasa.  Mikasa Ackerman,” the girl with the red scarf added, nodding back, her arms crossed in front of her as she leaned against the wall.

“Ymir.  This is Christa Renz,” said the dark-skinned girl, ruffling the hair of the short blonde one, who weakly protested. 

“Leonhardt.  Annie Leonhardt,” the scary one said curtly.  Her voice was just as scary as her face.

“Nice to meet all of you,” you said with another nod, and they all nodded back. 

You collected your bag from the pile sitting inside the door, and picked a top bunk against the left wall, quickly tossing your things up and collapsing on the bunk below it, next to Mina.

“That sure was some kick you gave to Jean,” Mina commented, staring at you with awe.  “What did he say to you?”

“That I should, quote, ‘get back in the kitchen,’” you scoffed, the mere memory of those words drawing your brows toward each other.

Christa gasped prettily, and Ymir cracked her knuckles.  Mikasa’s already solemn gaze darkened, and her mouth drew into a thin line.  There was something close to gender equality in most of the districts, and being degraded like that by someone in the military, the most equal place of them all, was an extreme insult.

“I’m surprised you left his head attached.  I wouldn’t have,” Mikasa said darkly, and judging from the abdominals flexing under her shirt and her impressive biceps, she was more than capable of doing so. 

“Yeah, well, Shadis already did a number on him, so I felt kinda bad,” you replied with a shrug. 

“Yeah, that head-butt sure looked like it hurt,” Mina chimed in, turning one of her pigtails anxiously.  “I mean, Shadis was scary enough just yelling at me!  How’d you escape him, [First]?”

You actually weren't too sure yourself, and you shrugged.  How _had_ you escaped the verbal – and perhaps physical – beat down?

“Aw, come on, don’t play,” Ymir said coyly, plopping down next to you and slinging an arm around your shoulders.  “I saw that expression in your eyes.  You were almost as scary as Leonhardt over there.”

At this Annie’s eyebrow twitched, but she said nothing.

You merely shrugged again, and replied, “I’m just used to dealing with men who think they can intimidate me.  That’s all.”

“You must be really strong!” Christa chirped, her blue eyes wide and sparkling like some sort of cartoon character. 

“Usually it doesn't take much for them to leave you alone.  Sometimes just talking back will do the trick,” you said modestly, reddening from her praise.

“You know, you’re alright, [First],” Ymir said appreciatively.  “You can sit with us at dinner tonight; you, me, Christa, and Potato Girl.”

“Potato Girl?”

“The girl with the baked potato.  She’s still running laps, though, now that I think of it.  Her name’s Sasha.”

You merely nodded, astounded that you would receive such a warm welcome after roundhouse kicking a guy in the face.  Eventually the rest of the girls filed in, introductions were made, and small talk ensued.

You were sitting next to Mina, nodding and talking when spoken to, when the uncomfortable warmth that had been spreading up your sleeve over the past 15 minutes became unbearable, and you tugged your arm in front of your face.

You were greeted with the sight of your hand and wrist totally soaked in blood, and all eyes swiveled toward you.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” Ymir asked worriedly, eyebrows furrowing.

“My ring,” you said calmly, studying the gash slowly and standing up.  “I’ll just go to the infirmary.  It’s no big deal, really, stop looking so worried, Christa.”

But Christa continued to look as if the world was ending.  Shaking your head, you gave her a small smile and exited the girls’ barracks.

You jogged over to the infirmary, bloody hand clutched in front of you, and yet the most stoic of expressions was on your face.  You certainly were a conundrum, indeed.

You opened the door of the infirmary, and was greeted with the sight of Jean Kirschtein lying on a bed, a bandage wrapped on his head in such a way that the knot on top made him look as if he was sprouting bunny ears.

“You the person that kicked him?” a middle-aged nurse with a cigarette between her teeth asked, startling you.

You could only manage to nod as you turned in the nurse’s direction, your eyes flicking over to Jean, assessing the damage.  You had definitely dislocated his jaw.

“Good job,” the nurse continued with a laugh and a wink before bustling off to do other nurse things.

You clasped your hands in front of you and slowly made your way over to Jean’s bed.  He narrowed his eyes as you approached, and you saw all the muscles in his body tense, ready to spring.

“Whuh d’yoo wan’?” he mumbled through his bandage, and you had to stifle a laugh.  He sounded absolutely ridiculous, but he was obviously in a lot of pain.  God fucking dammit, why did you feel so _guilty?_

Without a word, you lifted your hand.  His eyebrow twitched, and he looked genuinely concerned for a moment before irritation took over yet again.  Making grumbling noises, Jean stretched over to his bedside table, grabbed a roll of bandages, and tossed it to you without even looking. 

You caught it with cat-like reflexes, and Jean’s eyes narrowed further.  Hey, it wasn't your fault you had had things thrown at you all your life.

You strode over to the washbasin and dunked your hands in.  The water immediately turned a pale pink, and you scrubbed halfheartedly at the gash in your finger, before shaking the water off of it and starting to wrap it.

“Hey . . . listen,” you began, your voice unbelievably soft, your eyes still intent on bandaging your finger.

You heard Jean turn to look at you, and you took a deep breath in through your nose. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled as you tied off the bandages with your teeth.  “I probably shouldn't have kicked you.  I mean, ‘cause of your head and all.  I mean, any other day I would have kicked you, but kicking you after you got your head smashed in probably wasn't the best idea.”  As you ended this sentence you turned to look at him, and you were again struck by how piercing, and yet how soft his amber eyes were.  You saw a blush creep over his face, but you couldn't for the life of you imagine why.

“Shorry, too,” he managed to get out.  “Didn’ mean tuh say that.  Vocuh co’ds have a mind o’ they own.”

You snorted, and smiled softly, shaking your head.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you said, but there was amusement in your tone.

He nodded instantly, and you laughed, tucking your head to hide your grin. 

But nevertheless, you should probably go before you said something you’d regret.

“Well,” you said, placing your hands on your knees and standing up, “I just wanted you to know that I accept your apology, and acknowledge that you most likely didn't mean it, but I am not going to forgive you.  Just so you know.”

You hadn't left soon enough, apparently.  You wanted to bash your head into a wall for sounding so pretentious.

But as you were making your way toward the door, you remembered something, and turned to look at Kirschtein over your shoulder.  He looked bewildered at your little statement, and you were sure if his jaw weren't bound it would be dropped.

“Oh, and my name’s [Last], by the way.  [First] [Last].”

And with that, you left.

You had forgotten to tell him that sometimes your vocal cords had a mind of their own, too.

* * *

 

Dinner was, needless to say, an awkward affair.  People kept coming up to you and asking if you were “that-girl-who-round housed-that-guy-in-the-face,” and either staring at you in awe or pulling a “you must be a total bitch” expression.  After about the tenth time, you were about ready to start giving demonstrations.

It also didn't help that Jean waltzed in halfway through, smug grin already back on his stupid face, and immediately had everyone fawning over him, asking if he was okay.  He, of course, milked it for all it was worth, and you could only stare in silent disgust for fear of getting in real trouble this time.

You refused to look in that idiot’s direction, instead trying to focus on the meaningless conversation Sasha and Christa were having, but you could still feel the burning stares of his new found supporters in the back of your skull. 

Finally, you could stand it no longer.

As the number of hateful glares reached a climax, your nails carved gashes into the wooden table, and you whipped around, snarling, brows drawn so close together they looked as if they were about to merge.

Observers later said that it had been the most terrifying experience of their entire life.

The whole dining hall went silent, without you even having to say a word.

“Kirschtein,” you ground out through gritted teeth, and he looked genuinely afraid, “shut – the ever – loving – fuck – _up.”_

You didn't need to say it twice.  Jean’s crowd of admirers quickly scattered, and he was left with Marco Bodt, the one who had been called a “talking stack of shit” by the Instructor, and Connie Springer, the boy who had been lifted into the air by his head for not saluting properly.

You slowly turned back around, to the shocked and slightly awed gazes of Sasha, Christa, and Ymir. 

“Man, I _really_ like you!” Ymir said, throwing you a wolfish grin.

“You’re seriously the scariest person I've ever met, [First],” Sasha mumbled through a mouthful of food.

You glared distastefully at your own, not even willing to try a single bite.  The food in your various places of residence throughout the years wasn't five stars, of course, but this shit looked like someone took a bunch of miscellaneous things around the training grounds, minced them, and then boiled them into soup.  You raised a spoonful, and watched it plop back down to your tray with a squelching noise.

You gulped, and gritted your teeth.  This is how it was gonna be for the next three years, and you were gonna have to fucking get used to it.  Taking a deep breath, you scooped up a spoonful of the grey sludge, and shoved it in your mouth, trying to get it down as quickly as possible.

You didn't get it down fast enough.

It tasted like a combination of stale cardboard and three day old sweaty clothes.  It almost came right back up your esophagus, but you managed to force it down.

“Seriously, what is this shit?” you mumbled, your stomach already protesting at the slop it had been given the task to break down.

“Better than some things, that’s for sure,” Ymir said bitterly, but as you looked at her in surprise, you saw her gaze drifting far, far away, and getting increasingly darker by the second.

You stared at the chunky mess on your plate, and as you swallowed spoonful after spoonful, your eyes watering, you tried to remember that starving children in the poorer districts of Wall Rose would kill for this stuff.

Needless to say, those thoughts didn't exactly help, and you rushed back over to the food counter to get another glass of water before you hurled up some internal organs.

As you were rushing over to the pitcher, you weren't looking where you were going, as is natural when your stomach is screaming in protest, and before you quite knew what was happening you had crashed into a mass of lean muscle.

For one panic-stricken second you thought it was Jean, but the voice that yelled “Sorry!” and the arm that grabbed your wrist definitely was not Horseface’s.

You threw a foot back to steady yourself, and looked up to find the face of Marco Bodt, his strong hand firmly around your wrist.  He actually wasn't so bad looking, up close.  He had a dusting of freckles over his cheeks and nose, and black hair parted down the middle with short fringe flopping on either side of his forehead. He had a round, nice-looking face, and wide, inviting hazel eyes. His build was slightly thicker than Jean’s, but he didn't have nearly as many muscles.

“Hey, are you okay?  Geez, I’m really sorry, I wasn't looking where I –“

“It’s okay,” you cut him off abruptly, hauling yourself up the rest of the way and letting go of his hand, giving him a small smile.  “It was my fault, I was in a hurry to get some water.”

“Food not agreeing with you, too?” Marco asked, grinning sweetly.

In all your years of life, you had never met a person as genuinely nice as this one.  You were stunned for a second, before you replied, “Y-yeah.  I mean, I've had bad food, but this takes the cake for the most repulsive.”

Marco laughed, and you blinked.  You hadn't thought what you said particularly funny, but apparently Marco did.

“Hey, so I just wanted to ask,” Marco said, his voice instantly becoming soft and serious, “Jean _did_ apologize to you, right?”

Anger faintly started to bubble within you.  This Marco kid was just a messenger from Kirschtein, was that it?

“Yeah.  In a way,” you responded gruffly, your eyebrow twitching. 

“Good,” Marco sighed in relief.  “I can’t get one word about you out of him.  I just wanted to make sure he apologized.”

You cocked your head.  This guy sure was strange.  You had never met anybody so _smiley_ before.  It was a new experience for you, and, to be honest, a little unnerving.

“Yeah, well, he did,” you said simply, turning away from the freckled boy to fill your water glass from the pitcher.

“That’s good,” Marco said, and silence reigned for a minute as you leaned against the wall, sipping your water.

“So,” you started, taking a readying sip, “how do you know Hor – I mean, Jean?”

“I don’t, actually,” Marco said, scratching the back of his head and grinning sheepishly. “I just dropped by in the infirmary after you to make sure he was okay.”

“Why would you do that?” you asked curiously.  “Isn't he just competition?”

“Well . . . I guess you could say that,” Marco said thoughtfully.  “But I think friendship is more important than rivalry.”

Dear God this boy was like sunshine and rainbows had a love child.  He was the living representation of a children’s book.

 “Then why are you here?” you asked bluntly, cursing the accidental edge in your voice.

“Because I want to join the Military Police and make the walls a better place,” he said with that stupid sparkling sunshine smile.  You almost hated him for it, but you felt as if the entire world would collapse if this guy was ever sad.

“Huh,” was all you said.

“What are  _you_  here for?” he asked you, those big hazel doe eyes of his blinking at you innocently. 

You wondered if he had ever killed a man.  No one would suspect him of it, what with that I-shit-rainbows look.

“Well --,” you began to say hesitantly, but were interrupted by a commotion over at one of the other tables.

Many of the trainees had gathered around one of them, and through the shifting bodies you caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, green-eyed boy, whose name you didn't know.

You and Marco glanced at each other, and went over to see what all the fuss was about.

“I already told you I saw it,” the boy said exasperatedly as you got there, looking up from eating his grey slop. 

There were many shocked gasps, and a boy with short cropped blond hair whose name you were pretty sure was Thomas said, “Really?” while another boy with dark brown parted hair asked him, “How big was it?”

“Big enough to look over the walls,” the green-eyed boy responded nonchalantly.

“What?  I heard it stepped right over them.”

“Me, too!”

“That’s what they said in my village.”

“Hey Marco,” you murmured, glancing to him, “what’s this kid’s name?”

“Eren Jaeger,” Marco mumbled back.

“No, it wasn't that tall,” Eren Jaeger responded to the group. 

“What did it look like?” Mina asked as she jostled Connie Springer for room.

“It barely had any skin, but it had a huge mouth,” Eren answered.

Of course, you had heard of the Colossal Titan.  Everyone had.  The village you had been staying in at the time in Wall Rose, Jinae, was small and remote, so news reached you a lot later than many of the other villages.  You still remembered listening with wide eyes and a slack jaw, your 13 year old heart pumping frantically.  You remember the panic that arose as rumors circulated of Titans breaking into Wall Rose, that they had advanced all the way to Wall Sina, that this was the end of humanity itself.  You remembered the fear, the smell of it tainting the air so strongly that it was still seared in your memory.  You would never forget that smell, that feeling.

You were broken out of Memory Lane by another trainee asking, “What about the Armored Titan that broke Wall Maria?”

“They call it that,” Eren scoffed, “but it looked like a normal Titan to me.”

“Th-then what’s a normal Titan like?” the boy with the dark parted hair asked, and the reaction was immediate.

Eren’s spoon clattered into his soup bowl, splattering the sludge over the table as his hand went over his mouth. You could practically see the memories flicking through his eyes, of all the blood, chaos, the giant leering faces, the hands reaching.  You knew how he felt.  You had many of those same memories yourself. The group was silent immediately, waiting with bated breath. 

“Guys, let’s stop with the questions,” Marco interjected, stepping forward.  “I’m sure he’d prefer to forget some things.”

“I’m sorry for asking –,” Connie began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Don’t be!” Eren practically snapped, a fierce edge in his tone.  Your eyes flicked over to him as he tore into a hunk of bread viciously, fire crackling in his green eyes, sudden energy evident in every tendon of his body.  “The Titans aren't all that tough. . .,” he continued, confidence practically seeping through the pores in his face, but you could see the slight tremors in his hands.  “If we can master the 3DMG, they won’t stand a chance!  Finally, I’m able to train as a soldier. . . I was just so excited, I forgot myself for a second.”  You had to resist the urge to scoff.  You had been like that once; swearing vengeance on every single Titan there was and ever would be, standing with your fist held high, your arrogance evident in the way you carried yourself, the tone of your voice.  You had looked utterly ridiculous, and this boy did, too.  “I’m joining the Survey Corps, so I can wipe the Titans off the face of this earth.  I’ll kill them all – “

“Hey, hey, are you nuts?” a voice came from a couple tables over, and familiar rage bubbled up inside of you.

You knew that voice.

The group pivoted, all eyes now on Jean Kirschtein, his bandage removed (the utter idiot), but his jaw still plenty swollen.

You scoffed out loud.  The lengths men would go to to hold up their tough-guy image.  His jaw would definitely be killing him tomorrow.  Maybe it would shut him up for once.

“Did you just say you want to join the Survey Corps?” Jean continued, resting his face in one hand, his asshole-smirk plastered across his face. 

“Yeah, I did,” Eren responded gruffly, eyeing Kirschtein haughtily.  “And you said you wanted to join the Military Police to take it easy, right?”

“I’m no liar. . . .,” Jean answered, grinning like some sort of possessed cat.  “I’m a straight talker, unlike someone who pretends to have balls of steel, even when he’s about to piss himself.”

Any guilt you had for Jean was now gone.  You almost kicked him again right then and there.

Eren rose with a clatter, his eyes cold, and unbelievably angry.

“Are you talking about me?” Eren asked in a deadly, yet crystal clear murmur.

“D-Don’t. . . .,” Connie Springer said nervously, trying in vain to defuse the inevitable conflict.

“Hey, I didn't. . . .,” Jean answered, standing up, still grinning like a stupid fucking cat that just ate a whole goddamn barrel of canaries.

The two boys stood in front of each other, and Jean’s extra two inches in height seemed to enlarge his already heavily inflated ego even more.

But before anything could get really serious, they were interrupted by the sound of a bell.

Jean sighed, and said, “Well, I’m sorry.  I didn't want to say you’re doing the wrong thing.  Peace?”  He extended a hand towards Eren. 

What.

Was this seriously the same horseface who had told you to get back in the kitchen?  You couldn't believe your ears.  After insulting Eren to his face, he had the gall to ask for a truce?

But Eren visibly relaxed, and said, “Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” and quickly shook Kirschtein’s hand, before exiting the dining hall.

A girl with long black hair rose from the table Eren had been sitting at, and followed him.  You were stunned at how beautiful she was as she passed in front of you, with her high cheekbones and silky hair.

Obviously you weren't the only one.

As she passed in front of Kirschtein, his face looked as if he had just unlocked all the secrets of the universe.  You could almost see the hearts floating around his stupid head.

“H-hey, you!” Kirschtein called as he jogged up to her.  She turned to face him, and his face turned impossibly red as he stammered, “W-W-Well, uh. . . .  It’s just that you look different than the rest of us.  I’m s-sorry. . . .  Your hair is very pretty.”

“Thank you,” she said, and her voice was just as pretty as her face, but both were totally expressionless.

And with a swish, she was gone, Kirschtein staring after her like a lovesick puppy for a few moments before jolting, as if coming to a realization, and jogging out after her.

You sighed and shook your head as you prepared to leave as well.  You brought your tray and glass over to the basin of dirty dishes, and as you were walking out, something white caught your eye.

You turned to look, and it was Kirschtein’s bandage, still lying on the table where he had been sitting.  You sighed again, picking it up. 

You were just too nice sometimes.

You walked out of the dining hall, bandage in hand, to find Kirschtein standing on the porch in front, his expression dark and stony.

“Kirschtein,” you said curtly, and he turned to look at you, his eyes hollow. 

_So he’s been rejected,_ you thought smugly to yourself.  You couldn't help but feel satisfied after the breathtaking display of arrogance at dinner.

“Here,” you said matter-of-factly, and looped the bandage around his head before he could protest, tying it in a knot at the top of his head and tucking the ends underneath, so he didn't look quite as ridiculous as before.

As your hands lightly brushed over his face, he blinked, and his cheeks turned red again. 

“What’s with you?” you asked irritably as you adjusted the bandage.  “You got a fever or something?”

“Fuck off, [Last], I don’t need your help,” Jean growled, swatting your hands away.

You scowled, and resisted the urge to absolutely shatter his jaw this time.

“Well, you’re lucky I found your stupid bandage on the table where you left it, or your jaw would've been so swollen tomorrow morning you wouldn’t have been able to eat,” you said venomously, placing your hands on your hips.

“Whatever,” Jean growled, and strode away, hunched over, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Shaking your head, you made your way back to the girls’ barracks, purposefully avoiding everyone so you could have some peace and quiet.

When you got there you changed into your nightclothes and climbed up to your bunk, placing your hands behind your head and studying the grain of the wood ceiling above you.

You thought about the events of the day, your introduction with Kirschtein, the quarrel between the two idiots at dinner, and of course, the blatant arrogance of Eren Jaeger.  And yet, you couldn't stop thinking about the fire in Eren's eyes, his absolute determination to save the world.

You smiled to yourself as the sounds of the other girls getting ready for bed slowly dwindled to silence.

You and Eren Jaeger had the same death wish, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!  
> I took some of the dialogue verbatim from the episodes, but it may read a little different to some people, because of differing translations etc etc  
> As usual, if you have any prompts or questions or anything, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit.tumblr.com  
> (Why am yes, I am shamelessly self-promoting)  
> ~Anna


	4. This is the Real World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: heavy use of google translate will be needed when reading this chapter. I just really really really love the idea of all the different nationalities in the military, and all the different languages being spoken.

In all your years of begging, being shunted from orphanage to orphanage, and living on the streets, you had never received as rude of an awakening as you did the next morning. 

The loud clanging of a bell jolted you up so fast you smashed your head into the ceiling.  Many of the other girls seemed to have suffered similar fates, as shouted expletives in a multitude of languages reverberated through the cabin. 

“Orokana kuso tenjou. . . .  Dumm verdammt Glocke. . . .,” you heard Mikasa mumbling in the top bunk across from you, in what you assumed were Japanese and German, although you couldn’t be sure.

“Ich bin zu hungrig für diese. . . .,” Sasha moaned from somewhere in the room, and you heard the dull thunk of her body hitting the floor as she fell out of bed, the growling of her stomach echoing through the barracks.

As you murmured expletives in a variety of jumbled languages, rubbing your forehead with the palm of your hand, you stumbled down the ladder and came to your wobbling feet on the floor.

You heard Annie’s rumbling Russian syllables as she pulled on her uniform, Christa’s dainty voice hacking up the rough sounds of German, which you found utterly uncharacteristic, and Ymir’s tongue making the strangest sounds you had ever heard in what you assumed was Norwegian. 

Even moving around as much as you did, you were amazed at the diversity here in the military.  Where you had resided over the years, everyone in the town had been mostly of one nationality, and that nation’s language had been spoken there instead of English, the “official” language of the Walls.  As a result, you could stutter out a few sentences in almost every language there was within the Walls, and you tended to slip into them at the most inopportune of moments.

“Ist Ihre Stirn okay?” you heard Christa say from next to you, and you turned to look at her.  The rough sounds of German spilling from her dainty mouth, being said by her high and pretty voice, utterly bewildered you.

“That was German, Christa,” you grumbled in English, and she blinked before flushing a deep red.

“Ah, sorry!” she squeaked, waving her hands apologetically.  “I slip into it sometimes, it’s a force of habit, oh, I’m so sorry –“

“It’s okay,” you cut her off, waving a hand to silence her.  “I only speak a few words of it.  Vielen Dank für Ihr Interesse.”

Christa’s eyes lit up as you thanked her for her concern in German, and she gave you one of the widest smiles you had ever seen. 

“Gern geschehen!” she chirped, and skipped out of the barracks, flowers and sparkles seeming to dance around her head.

You sat down on Mina’s bunk so you could finish getting ready.  Ymir walked up to stand in front of you, looking to where Christa was outside, enthusiastically talking to a large blond boy in German.

“Hva er det med henne?” Ymir mumbled as she plopped down next to you, scratching her head.

“English, Ymir,” you gently chided with a smile in her direction.

“Ah, right, sorry.  What’s with her?” she amended.

“I spoke German to her.  I guess I was the first person she’s met who spoke her native language,” you explained as you buttoned up your blouse.

“Lucky,” Ymir grumbled, rolling her shoulders in her tight jacket.  “I haven’t met a single Norwegian person here, yet.  That reminds me, where are you from?” she asked, looking at you quizzically.  “I heard you swearing in a whole fuckton of languages up there.”

“Oh, here and there,” you said dismissively, pulling on your jacket.  “I speak lots of languages, though.  Mostly just a few sentences in each.”

“Any Norwegian?” Ymir asked, leaning toward you with a glint in her eyes.

“Et lite,” you said with a grin and Ymir beamed.

“At least I’ll have someone to converse with,” she said happily, ruffling your hair before standing up and going after Christa.

Sasha then stumbled up to you, her boots on the wrong feet, only one arm in her jacket, her blouse haphazardly buttoned.  Before she could even open her mouth, you said, “Are you gonna speak to me in German, too?”

Sasha looked at you, blinking blearily, before smiling sleepily and mumbling, “I was gonna.”

You sighed, and after pulling on your boots and helping Sasha fix her appearance, you walked with her out of the barracks and into the dim morning light.

“Jesus Christ, what time is it?” you asked, rubbing your eyes irritably.  “I should be fast asleep right now, not trudging around in the mud at fuckin’ four in the morning.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to get used to it,” Mikasa’s emotionless voice said from your left, and you turned to look at her. 

Her red scarf was covering her mouth, and she was rubbing her arms, trying to gain some warmth in the chilly mist that hung in the air.  You squinted and looked closer.  Her hair was decidedly shorter than yesterday.

“Hey, Mikasa,” you ventured, and she glanced at you, “did you cut your hair?”

She turned bright red and buried her face deeper into her scarf, before mumbling, “Eren told me to cut it.”

_Oh._

You smirked.  That was why Horseface had looked so dead inside last night.  Immediately after complimenting her long, black hair, she had resolved to chop half of it off.  You couldn’t wait to see his face.

“It looks nice.  I’m sure Eren will like it,” you said slyly, and Mikasa turned more shades of red than you thought physically possible.

You heard footsteps scuffing on the dirt, and you turned to look as the boys shuffled out of their barracks a few buildings down.  They all looked like absolute shit, as you were sure the girls did also, their clothes all in disarray, hair mussed, which was extremely attractive on some, you had to admit.  You saw Kirschtein glance over at Mikasa, and saw his already depressed demeanor get even sadder.  He was slumped so much his hands were practically dragging on the ground.

You snorted.

“CADETS!” a booming voice rang out, and you all stood to attention and saluted with a loud “Hah!”

Keith Shadis strode out to stand in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, looking down his nose at you all with those haughty yellow eyes of his.

“NOW THAT YOU LITTLE SHITS HAVE SURVIVED INITIATION, IT’S TIME FOR THE REAL WORK TO BEGIN!  FROM NOW ON, YOU’RE SOLIDERS, CADETS!  WHINING, CRYING, AND BITCHING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED HERE!  IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THESE SIMPLE TERMS AND CONDITITIONS, THEN YOU CAN HIKE YOUR ASSES RIGHT ON BACK HOME!”

You shuddered in excitement.  This was it.  You were finally here, in the military, one of the most prestigious places out there.  You would go through all the blood, sweat, and tears you needed to, just to accomplish what you had dreamed of your whole life.

“ALRIGHT, PIGSHITS!” Shadis continued.  “TODAY WE’RE GONNA TEST THE AMOUNT OF SKILL YOU POSSESS IN THOSE SHIT STACKS YOU CALL BODIES.  FOLLOW ME, YOU SHITS.”

Shadis turned on his heel and marched off.  You and the others immediately marched after him, your footsteps falling in rhythm.  You had to admit, it was a nice sound.  The steady thump and scrape of boots in the dust was entrancing, relaxing almost. 

The Instructor led the cadets around the buildings to a large back area that you hadn’t seen before, where a couple strange contraptions were set up, consisting of a swing-set looking set of poles with a set of wires strung between them.

“YOU’LL BE TESTING YOUR BASIC ABILITY TO BALANCE IN YOUR 3DMG HARNESSES,” bellowed Shadis, turning toward you and gesturing behind him.  “IF YOU CAN’T EVEN DO THIS, THEN YOU AREN’T FIT TO BE HERE.  AN OFFICIAL, SUCH AS MYSELF, WILL BE ASSIGNED TO EACH STRUCTURE.  YOU EACH WILL BE GIVEN YOUR 3DMG HARNESSES, AND YOU WILL THEN BE LIFTED INTO THE AIR.  FIRST COME FIRST SERVE AS TO WHO GOES FIRST.  DISMISSED.”

The trainees scattered to get their harnesses.  You just prayed to whatever there was that you didn’t have Shadis commandeering your contraption, and that your harness wasn’t too uncomfortable.

As you received yours from an official, you took a minute to look at it.  It was a tangle of belts and buckles, but after a bit of finagling and frequent glancing at other cadets, you managed to get into it and not get totally tangled in it, like Springer over there.  Sasha was desperately trying to help him, but was laughing too hard to actually be of any assistance.

The harness consisted of a series of belts overlapping your body, and it was so tight it made you feel like a string-wrapped Christmas ham.  Your arms were the only part of you that was free of straps, for blade mobility, you guessed, but the rest of you was wrapped up tight.  The straps on your legs weren’t too bad, you could still move them pretty much as you normally would.  But the straps over your crotch made you feel like some sort of bondage pervert (but they were also useful for causing quick injury to the guys), the straps over your ass called more attention to it than you ever wanted it to be paid (though, thankfully, the mini skirt thing covered most of it), and the ones over your sides felt as if your internal organs were trying to be forced out.  The plate thing over your back was weird and cumbersome, although you were assured you would get used to it, and the ones in the small of your back for the gas tanks didn’t let you bend as far backward as you would like without causing damage to something. 

All in all, it was uncomfortable, tight, heavy, and you hated it.  But you reminded yourself that you would get over it, just like everyone else in the military.

You managed to get into a line for a structure at the far left of the field, along with Sasha, Ymir, Annie, and Mina.  Mina managed to get in it first, and she strapped herself in with nimble fingers.  The sides of her belt were attached to two long cables that were tied to a pulley-like system in the structure above her. 

Nodding excitedly to the guy in charge of the crank, he started turning it, and Mina slowly rose into the air. 

Fear filled her eyes as her arms swung out for balance.  She teetered precariously, trying to find a foothold where there was none. 

She was doing better than _some,_ you thought, as you glanced over and saw Eren flipping over and bashing his head onto the ground, to the snickers of the trainees around him.

So much for his dream, but you had to admit you did feel pretty bad.

Mina was finally let down, and gave a loud sigh of relief when her feet touched the ground again.

“That was so weird!” she cried as she unbuckled herself.  “It was like – I don’t know!  It’s so scary, though!  Like the only thing keeping you from falling is these little straps!  It’s _weird!”_

Sasha managed to push her way through the line and get hooked up next.  As she rose into the air, she beamed.

“What are you talkin’ about, Mina?” she said cockily as she settled back and started to swing back and forth.  “This is easy!”

You took careful observation of Sasha’s position, most of her weight settled on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs.  Her balance was impeccable.  She was a natural.  You resolved to be as good, if not better than that.

You looked over to the structure to your right where Mikasa was currently being tested, and your hopes were suddenly burned to ashes and scattered into the wind.

You didn’t think it possible, but she had done better than even Sasha.  She was almost ram-rod straight, whereas Sasha had been bent as if she were sitting.  Her weight settled perfectly into her hips, and her arms hung at her sides, unneeded.  Judging from the whispers of the officials, they had never seen anything like that.

_So much for shooting for #1,_ you thought bitterly.  You were ambitious, sure, but you were smart enough to know that you would never surpass this girl.  She had more talent than most of the soldiers who had already graduated, and she hadn’t even tried the 3DMG yet.  She just had that air about her that anything and everything she ever tried she would excel at. 

You wanted to hate her, you wanted to resent her, you wanted something to fuel your ambition to get #1, but you couldn’t.  You couldn’t hate her, the way she just calmly swung there, without boasting or anything, without even cracking a smile at the praise she was receiving from Shadis, limited as it was.  If anything, she looked as if she really didn’t wanna be here.  Like she would rather be anywhere but there, but something was keeping her, like a restless spirit.

You saw her eyes flick over to Eren, who was having a bandage wrapped around his head by Armin, and you saw her eyes soften, just a fraction, practically unnoticeable to someone who wasn’t watching for it.

Ah.

So that was it. 

_You better treat her like the saint she is, Jaeger,_ you grumbled to yourself as you turned around to watch Annie swinging effortlessly as well.  _Because the only reason she’s going through this hell is for your sorry ass._

Annie was let down, and before you knew what was happening, Ymir’s strong hands were pushing you to the front of the crowd with a mischievous snicker.

You stumbled as you emerged in front of the structure, and you gulped.  Despite how almost everyone had been, at worst, okay at this, you couldn’t help but think of Jaeger, of how he just somersaulted forward like the earth was forcefully calling him back.  What if you were even worse than that?

Your hands shook as the officials beckoned you over, and you fumbled trying to hook the cables to your harness.  You could feel the eyes of almost all the trainees on you.  They had all come over to see just how skilled you were, the girl who had round housed a guy on her first day.  Not even three days here, and you already had a reputation and expectations.  You cursed your impetuosity once again.  It was always getting you into shit like this.

Shakily nodding to the official at the crank, you took a deep breath in, trying to calm your racing nerves. 

You heard the rusty cogs of the crank squeal and groan as they rotated, and you felt the wires go taught as you were slowly lifted into the air.

It was by far the weirdest sensation you had ever felt.  You tried to keep your expression under control as you tried to become accustomed to the new feeling.

_Breathe, [First].  Breathe.  It’s like when a guy tries to throw you off balance.  Yeah, just like that.  This is like the moment where you’re off balance and you have to correct yourself, except 10 times longer.  But you can do it!  You’ve done it before. Now –_

You took a deep breath. 

Focus on the center of gravity, shift weight to it, not too much, or equilibrium will be compromised, utilize the muscles of the lower back and the back of the thighs, settle into the hips, tighten the core, loosen the hamstrings –

You heard soft gasps and murmurs of appreciation.  You looked at the faces surrounding you, and saw more than a little awe.  You sought out that two-toned head among the crowd, and you saw him staring at you, his face showing a mix of anger and appreciation.  You caught his amber eyes and smirked.  He immediately scowled and turned on his heel, striding away from you. 

You snickered, but your happiness was cut short as the Instructor moved into view.

“Impressive, Cadet [Last],” Shadis mused as he moved to the front of the crowd, arms crossed in front of him.  “Not bad at all.  But don’t think you PIGSHITS,” and suddenly his voice returned to normal volume, well, normal for Shadis anyway, as he turned around to the rest of the cadets, “ARE THROUGH YET.  THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING.  DON’T THINK JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE GOOD AT THIS THAT YOU’LL MASTER THE 3DMG.  WE STILL HAVE A LONG WAY TO GO, PISS-ANTS.”

You scowled.  Thanks for the confidence boost, Shadis. 

You felt yourself being let down, and once your feet hit solid ground you yanked the wires off of you and went to find Sasha, Ymir, and Christa.

“That was amazing, [First]!” Christa cried as she caught sight of you, running up to you and beaming, her blue eyes sparkling, as was the norm.

“Pretty impressive,” Ymir agreed, coming into view.  “You’re almost on par with Ackerman.”

“As if,” you snorted derisively.  “I’ll never be on par with her.  She’s way outta my league.”

“Jean didn’t seem to think so,” Sasha said suggestively as she sidled up next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“What d’ya mean?” you asked bewilderedly.

“What, didn’t you see how he was staring at you?” Sasha asked curiously, blinking at you.

“No.  He was?” you asked, looking over to Ymir and Christa, who both nodded.

“Pretty intently.  And I thought he had a thing for Ackerman,” Ymir said with a shrug.

“He was probably just jealous of my amazing abilities,” you joked, and Sasha swatted your arm lightly.

“No need to rub it in!” she chided.  “Well, anyway, dinner’s on me!  And by on me I mean literally on me.  Please place your dinners on me.  I’m hungry.”

“Sasha I am thoroughly convinced your stomach is an actual black hole,” you said in a serious tone as the four of you started back to the mess hall for lunch.

“Probably!” Sasha chirped in response, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

* * *

 

As you were trudging to the mess hall, you caught sight of Marco, standing with Jean near the building, chatting.  Saying a quick word to the other girls, you jogged over, a smile on your face. 

“Hey, Marco!” you called as you approached, and you saw both Marco and Horseface turn toward you, Jean’s face breaking into a scowl, Marco’s into a grin.

“Hey, [First]!  What’s up?” Marco asked conversationally, and you realized you had forgotten how bright his smile was.

“How’d you do with the exercise?  I didn’t see you,” you responded, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“I did okay, I think,” Marco said modestly, blushing and scratching the back of his head.  “Jean did way better, though.  His balance was really good.”

“Please,” Jean scoffed, crossing his arms.  “Don’t show off, [First] is better than we’ll ever be.”

As these words spilled out of his mouth, you both turned red, and Marco smirked.

“H-How’s your jaw?” you directed at Jean in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

“Fine,” he grumbled, his blush growing even deeper.  “Still hurts, though.”

“Well, if you’d wear the fucking bandage, it wouldn’t,” you retorted, crossing your arms as well.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled, looking you straight in the eye.

“I’ll tell you whatever the hell I wanna tell you,” you snapped, taking a step closer to him. 

“ _You’re_ the one who won’t forgive me; you should be waiting on me hand and foot.”

“I already _have,_ asshole.  I don’t hold that much of a grudge.”

“Wait, you have?” he asked, his anger slipping as he stepped back and blinked at you in surprise.

“We were all just stressed,” you said dismissively, waving your hand.  “I have concluded that you are, indeed, an asshole, but not a _huge_ asshole.  Not as much of an asshole as I thought you were, anyway.”

“Jesus Christ, was that a compliment?  I couldn’t tell, it was so well hidden under the insults,” he sneered in reply.

“It’s as good as you’re gonna get, Kirschtein,” you said defiantly, stepping closer to him.

“Oh, really?  I’ll bet in just a few months you’ll be falling all over me,” he murmured cockily, closing the distance so that your noses were nearly touching.  You were ashamed to admit he was a good three inches taller than you were.

“You wanna fuckin’ bet, Horseface?” you growled, and you saw his eyebrow twitch in irritation.

“Let’s make it a promise,” he fumed, but before you could open your mouth to respond, Ymir’s loud, crass voice interrupted you.

“Oh my god, just _kiss_ already.  The sexual tension between you two is so intense it’s frying my eyebrows off,” Ymir interjected, and you heard Sasha try to suppress a giggle behind her.

You and Kirschtein jumped apart as if electrocuted, refusing to look at each other. 

Ymir roared with laughter, and towed Sasha away, who was laughing too hard to stand up properly.

As you watched them go, you heard Kirschtein clear his throat from next to you, and you snuck a glance at him.

His blush had spread all the way down his neck and to the very tips of his ears, and he was still refusing to meet your eyes.

“S-So uh – friends?” he asked tentatively, looking up to meet your gaze.  “I mean,” he cleared his throat, and when he spoke, you heard the edge in his voice again, “it’ll more be like Marco trying to keep us from beheading each other but – ”

“Yeah, sure,” you laughed, smiling right at him.  He looked as if his stomach had just dropped to the ground, his eyes were widened to the point that they looked as if they were going to fall right out, his mouth agape.  You assumed this was merely because your affirmation was so unexpected.  “I mean, it’s probably better to make friends than enemies, right?  I mean, we’re stuck together for three years.”  You directed your smile to Marco who grinned back with a small chuckle, amusedly watching Jean’s expression.

“Euh, ou-ouais,” Jean stammered in French, without realizing it, and you could see him trying to control his expression.  “Bien sûr. Peu importe.”

“Vous parlez français, Jean. À plus tard,” you said with a smirk, and strode away to find the two idiots who you could still hear laughing a way off.

You heard Jean saying frantically to Marco as you left, “Jesus Christus, Marco, hast du das gesehen –”

“That was German, Jean.  Geez, how many languages do you know?”

“Not as many as _her,_ apparently –”

“You done flirting, [First]?” Ymir asked as you finally found her and Sasha slumped against the outside of the mess hall, still chuckling.

“I was _not_ flirting!” you cried adamantly, your face burning.

“That’s what someone who was flirting would say –”

“Shut up, and let’s get dinner, you idiots,” you grumbled, grabbing both of them by the arm and dragging them inside.

* * *

 

After dinner, you trudged back to your barracks, decidedly sore, your cheeks still slightly pink from your encounter with Kirschtein. 

Once you were inside, your clothes practically flew off of you, the 3DMG harness falling in a heap of straps and clinking buckles over the post of your bed.  You reached behind you to rub your aching shoulder muscles, and gave a loud yelp.

Welts, considerably large ones, crisscrossed all over your body, in the exact shape of the 3DMG harness.  You heard similar gasps of astonishment and cries of pain from the girls around you, and you groaned, flopping back onto your rock of a mattress a little too roughly, causing colors to flash behind your squeezed shut eyelids as you desperately tried not to yelp again. 

You groaned pitifully.

The next three years were going to be absolute hell.

* * *

 

If anything, your supposed “friendship” with Kirschtein just accelerated your rivalry even more.  Now that you could bitch about him to his face instead of just to your friends, you were even more determined to place above him in the top 10.  Because you were both getting into the top 10, of course.

Two months after basic training, which was building up muscle mass and starting hand to hand combat, you were finally given the actual 3DMG gear.

You were each given two large box things that went on either side of your hips that held your extra blades and gas tank, a gas emitter tank thing which tied around your waist with a metal belt that also served as the hole the wires came out of and the place where the blade holders attached, and said blade holders. 

You were given a brief crash course in how to use the equipment. You pulled the inside triggers on the holders, which could be placed in the holsters that were at either side of your chest, to shoot a hook attached to a wire into an object.  Once you were hooked, you pulled the triggers again to either zoom forward with the momentum provided by the retracting wire, or you could press the  outside, larger trigger to use the gas, which sped you up considerably.  However, Shadis advised you, gas was spent quickly, and you should probably learn how to best utilize your basic momentum before relying on gas.  The blades clicked into the holders, and there was a small lever behind the slot to expel them.

And then, Shadis left you all to your own devices, which, year after year without fail, proved to be a horrendously bad idea.

You managed to get your gear on correctly without too much trouble, all the while marveling at how the soldiers who had graduated managed to bear the blade holders bouncing against their hips all the time.  It was heavy and cumbersome, and you wondered how any titans had ever managed to be killed at all with this stuff. 

You stood up, all ready to go, when the blade holder bounced a little too hard on your thigh, where some of the most painful welts were, and you winced.

“You okay there, [Last]?” you heard Jean’s voice next to you, and you looked over to him, almost doing a double take.

There was a fine sheen of sweat over his forehead from the heat, beads of it trickling over his jawline, down the smooth veins of his neck, and across his collarbone.  His muscles were more pronounced, incredibly so, his shoulder muscles rolling, biceps flexing.  If he hadn’t been such an asshole, you would have been on that in a millisecond.

Composing yourself, you gruffly replied, “Yeah.  Just sore.  This fucking harness is a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it,” Jean sighed exasperatedly, running a hand through his copper-blond hair.  You resisted the urge to run your fingers through it as well.

Hey, what could you say?  You were 15, extremely hormonal, standing next to an attractive male.  And it wasn’t as if you would let him distract you, oh no.  Kirschtein would have to have the body of a god to do that. 

Well, he might, actually, you thought to yourself.  You had never seen him shirtless before.

_You idiot, snap out of it!_

You mentally shook your head, trying to banish the image of glistening abs and happy trails from your mind.

“You ready?” Jean asked, breaking you out of your reverie, and you nodded.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The whole trainees’ corps was situated outside of a forest adjacent to the training grounds, since Shadis had said trees were the easiest and cheapest way of learning how to use the 3DMG.

Nodding to Kirschtein, you positioned your hips toward a branch high above you and a couple meters away, and shot out your hooks.  They landed safely in the branch with a resounding thunk, and you quickly tested that they were secure before planting your feet apart, drawing the blade holders out of their holsters (you weren’t allowed to use the blades just yet), and pressing the triggers.

And by far, it was the most amazing thing you had ever experienced.  You would lament later on about the thrill of the first ride, how exhilarating it felt to fly through the air.  Every anxious thought and feeling was torn from you by the howling wind in your ears, and you laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in years.

But you quickly remembered that you could indeed kill yourself with this contraption, and before you could break your spine on the branch in front of you as it came hurtling toward you, you popped the hooks out and came to a shaky landing on the branch as the hooks whistled back into the belt with a satisfying clinking sound.

You heard a loud thud and saw Jean land unceremoniously on a branch to your right, wobbling considerably as the branch shifted with his weight.

“Isn’t this cool?!” you called over to him, your eyes sparkling, your voice light and carefree and without a single trace of a sarcastic edge.

Jean looked at you as if he had never seen you before, blush rising to his cheeks, and he managed to stutter out a “yeah.”

With a hearty laugh, you shot your hooks out again, and left every single one of your inhibitions behind you in the clear blue sky.

* * *

 

It was a week later that the corps had its first casualty.

When you heard the officials discussing it later, they marveled at how late in the program the first death had been.  Usually a couple would have died by then, they said.

His name was Berk. 

Ironically, in Turkish, Berk meant “solid, firm, or strong.”

It had been the start of round two of 3DMG training.  They were expected to go longer distances, perform more complicated maneuvers, and improve their landings and take-offs.

You were with him when it happened.

He had just shot his hooks into a thin-looking branch far above him, and he had refused to listen to your warnings that the branch wasn’t sturdy enough to hold his weight (he was heavily built).  He had laughed off your concern, and swung forward anyway with a cloud of gas billowing behind him.

Surprisingly, it was the hooks that didn’t hold.  They tore themselves out of the tree as Berk was flying over a cluster of smaller ones.

And before you could even utter a sound, he was falling.  Instinct took over, his hands scrabbled through the air for something to grab onto. 

He was supposed to stay calm, keep his blade holders in his hand, and shoot his wires into something else to catch himself.  That was what the lot of you had been instructed to do if you fell.

Berk hadn’t been paying attention that day.

Berk almost never paid attention.

He landed on a branch perpendicular to his body, so as he landed with a sickening crunch his spine was snapped into a U shape.  You watched blood spurt from his mouth and stomach as his spine shot through his midsection.  It was the most blood you had seen in a while, and you had forgotten how terrible it was.

You had forgotten the smell, the god awful smell.

You screamed.

Jean was the first one to reach you.  Upon discovering that you yourself were unharmed, he followed the line of sight of your trembling finger, as you pointed to Berk, bent over a tree branch like a human horseshoe over a nail.

Many others rushed over due to your screech, and word soon spread to Shadis, who came whizzing over, his face expressionless as he gingerly lifted Berk’s mangled body off of the branch.

“As you were, cadets,” he said gruffly, but there was an imperceptible tremor in his voice.

It was at that point that it hit all of you that Titans weren’t the only thing that could kill you.

 

 


	5. Duyên

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is way fluffier than it needs to be but at this point i don't really care

After Berk, there were five more casualties. 

You developed a habit of flitting between groups to check on the people dearest to you.  Groups normally tended to split up anyway, and you hoped Shadis hadn’t caught on yet.  Sasha, Ymir, and Christa were the obvious first ones you put on the list, which then expanded to include Mina, Marco, and even that asshole Jean.  You even checked on Mikasa and Annie sometimes, even though you knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves.

_Is this what these three years are gonna be like?_ you thought wryly to yourself as you broke away from that day's assigned group.  You had developed a rotation so you made sure everyone was accounted for.  Jean was next on the list. 

You flitted away from your team as quietly as possible, weaving and ducking through a maze of tree branches, wincing every time the whirring of your wires or the popping noise of your hooks echoed through the trees.  You had to be extra careful when checking on Jean, he was the sort of person who believed he could take care of himself (but actually couldn’t), and got supremely offended when anyone showed concern for him. 

Things were at best rocky between you two as it was, the only thing holding you together being Marco’s calming presence.  And yet, you still found yourself admiring the roll of his shoulder muscles, the way his lips quirked up at the corners when he was trying not to smile, how he was able to retort to your sarcastic comments at rapid speed, the way his blush spread over his face.  You hated yourself for it. 

Were you starting to become attracted to this moron?

You shook your head feverishly, letting off a little more gas than was necessary as you accelerated.  You would just check on the idiot, make sure he wasn’t tiring out too much, and then leave.

The teams were split in a convenient star formation, so all you had to do was briefly bypass the five points until you found which one Jean was in. 

After whizzing your way through two teams (and going unnoticed, you proudly admitted), you finally came into a narrow clearing and saw Jean, by himself, making his shaky way through the trees.

Jean had been of the mindset from the very beginning that using gas was for losers.  He utilized every bit of momentum he could possibly extract simply from shooting and retracting his wires, and only used gas when absolutely necessary.  Because of this, the strain on his body was intense, and you took careful note of his exhaustion at dinnertime, the dark circles around his eyes, the limited range in which he could swing his arms and legs after a day of 3dmg training. 

Recently, the drills had gotten harder, the cadets were expected to make it longer distances without having to stop to rest, and you could tell it was getting to him.  You could see his chest rising and falling rapidly as he sped along, you at a safe distance above him.  You noticed the almost imperceptible tremors in his arms and legs as he positioned himself to shoot his hooks into an upper branch so he could swing below it.

And that was when it all went wrong. 

As Jean popped his hooks out of the branch above him and prepared to shoot them into the next branch, the G-forces of the descent seemed to be too much for his weary body.  He suddenly slumped over, in a dead faint, the blade holders falling out of his hand, the clinking of his wires retracting echoing dully through the trees.

He began to fall.   

A strangled noise gurgled from the back of your throat, and you shot a single hook into a tree in Jean’s vicinity, and sped forward, pushing the gas lever all the way down.  A white vapor trail followed you as you zoomed forward at what must have been the ultimate maximum velocity for your gear, but at this point you didn't care.  Everything became a blur around you except for Jean, and time slowed down.

Your arms were reaching, you could hear your voice calling his name, you saw the thicket of tree branches he was hurtling towards, and then you crashed into him.

You wrapped your arms around his chest as you tried to regain the wind knocked out of you, and desperately fumbled for the blade holders you had dropped, to hook into something, anything to break your fall.

You swung past the place where you were hooked as you regained a hold on one of your blade holders, and prepared to pop the hook out and shoot another one into a branch above you.

Unfortunately, Fate had other ideas. 

Just as you pressed the trigger to dislodge the hook, the wire reached the end of its line, and it snapped you around in a full 180 degree turn, and you heard something crack in your abdomen.  The hook popped out of the branch, and you were floating in empty air.

You had been going too fast.  Much too fast.

And now you were hurtling toward a tree with nothing to stop you.  The combined force of Jean’s weight and your acceleration amounted to a dangerous combination as you glanced over your shoulder at the tree trunk headed straight for your back. 

You turned your head back around, squeezed your eyes shut, tightened your grip on Jean, and blindly shot your hooks out.  You knew they wouldn’t get anywhere in time.  You braced for impact.

It hurt more than you ever knew anything could.  It felt as if your spine was trying to migrate to your esophagus, and you heard more than a few bones shatter.  Blood spurted from between your lips as your ribs punctured both of your lungs, and one of your organs – _dear god please let it not be too important –_ was rattled a little too roughly and crashed into something else.

Like balls on a pool table, everything in your body crashed together and separated just as quickly, leaving you breathless and bleeding against the tree trunk, Jean still clutched against your chest.  Your hooks had managed to shoot into a branch above and slightly in front of you, and you braced your heels against the rough bark of the tree to try to slow your slide down it. 

You felt more blood bubble in your throat and you jerked your head to the side, coughing blood into the open air.  You watched gravity slowly drag the droplets down to earth, and you reflected how much it looked like sakura petals.

You felt Jean shift in your arms, and managed to exhale his name through your bloody lips.

His back was pressed against your chest, your arms still steadfast around him, and he turned to look at you, eyes still hazy from his bout of unconsciousness, but he snapped to attention when he saw the blood dripping from the corners of your mouth. 

You heard him shout your name, but it was as if you were on opposite ends of a steel tunnel.  You could only faintly hear the words he was saying, the syllables bouncing and ricocheting all around you. 

Your vision was starting to go.  You fixed it on those amber eyes of his.  While the rest of him was fuzzy and flickering and slowly fading to black, his amber eyes stayed the same way they always were, piercing and bright and so very much alive. 

You thought it was a nice last thing to see.

But much too soon those eyes, too, began to fade away, and you were suddenly very afraid.  You didn't want to leave.  You  _couldn't_ leave this shithead by himself.  He would kill himself, just as he almost had.  If you hadn't been there to save his sorry ass, he wouldn’t be seeing tomorrow. 

_Well,_ I _won’t be seeing tomorrow, now,_ you thought wryly to yourself, but believed it was a good trade.

His life was probably infinitely more meaningful than yours. 

You felt your last bit of strength holding the two of you up fade, and you both started to slide down the tree. Jean, fully alert now, braced his heels on the bark and wrapped his arms around you, shaking you, yelling something at you.

You smiled to yourself as your eyelids started to flutter shut.

At least you got to die in someone’s arms, you thought.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Darkness.

That was the only thing you felt.  A sort of cool numbness.  Is this what death felt like?  Were you, in fact, dead?  Were you then doomed to this eternity of nothingness?  It was peaceful, almost.  There was nothing, nothing at all.  In the past, you had wished for nothingness.  Wondered if the pain would just go away if you jumped in front of the next wagon to pass by.

You never did, though.  You liked the feeling of the sun on your arms too much, you liked the shouts of a marketplace ringing through cold winter air, the winter blue of the sky changing to spring blue, the first wildflowers peering through the freshly revealed grass.  You liked life, the endless microcosms melding into macrocosm upon macrocosm until the world around you was shouting in every fiber of your being so loudly that you could hardly stand it.

You loved life.  You found in that moment that you, in fact, did not want to die.

Fear constricted you. No, no, no, there were still so many things you had to do, things you had to see, you had to know what the outside world looked like, you wanted to feel the vastness of the world around you, you didn't want to die in these binding, suffocating walls.  You wanted to feel a cool summer breeze kiss your skin, you wanted to know how it felt when a person kissed your skin, you wanted to see that endless expanse of water that you had heard Armin whispering about to Eren and Mikasa, you wanted to breath in the cool, cool air that sometimes whistled down between the tall, tall buildings, that was always just out of reach.  You wanted to know what it would feel like to go outside the Walls without fearing for your life.  The colors and sounds of your memory clashed together in a blinding cacophony against your eyelids, all the times you had felt happy, sad, exhilarated, heavy, and broken jumbling together into a thick ball of emotion that seemed as if it was lodged somewhere in your throat, fluttering like a trapped bird.

The darkness rippled and stretched taut like a string on a violin.  Your breathing – wait, you were breathing? – sped up, your hands – oh, now you could feel  them – grasped for something, anything. 

The first thought you had as you slowly opened your eyes was that you were alive.

Second, that everything hurt.

You waited for your brain to kick into gear, and dimly registered that you were in a hospital bed.  Upon further inspection of all the feelings assaulting your senses, you could feel bandages wrapped around your head, and your chest, and a crisp white hospital gown scratching against your collarbone.  You felt a line of dull pain running down the middle of your chest.  Frowning, you tried to lift the blanket covering you to find out what it was, only to find that your arms were far too weak to move more than a few inches.  You exhaled softly, breath whistling through your dry and cracked lips.

The third thought you had was of Jean.

You rustled impatiently, annoyed at how little you could move.  You needed to make sure he was okay.  You needed to make sure that you hadn't almost died for nothing.

As you were about to call his name, your hearing came back, and you heard raised, angry voices outside the infirmary door. 

You concentrated with all your might on the sounds, trying to distinguish words.  You were able to catch some, but it was like trying to listen to a radio with a bad signal.

“What the hell’re you . . . you don’t fucking . . . I _need_ to . . . if she’s okay . . . me in,” you managed to get, from a voice that sounded a hell of a lot like Jean’s.  Your heart swelled and thumped loudly in your chest.

“Sir, we can’t . . . against regulations . . . stay out . . . come back later. . . .,” another voice said.

Come back later?  They can’t what?  They weren't going to let him in?

Familiar anger frothed inside of you.  Your tongue darted out to moisten your cracked lips, you took in a semi-deep breath (any deeper and there was an intense pain in your ribs), and managed to weakly call out a “Jean.”

The angry voices continued, and your brow furrowed.  You hadn't been loud enough.  You softly cleared your throat and tried again.

“Jean,” your voice trembled through the air, but still the voices continued, growing in volume.

You gritted your teeth.  You did not have time for this shit.  You needed to make sure Jean was in one piece _now._

You ground your teeth together, and summoned up every ounce of strength in your broken body, and barked, “Jean!”

It was less of a bark and more of a broken call, and it earned you a sharp pain in your chest. 

But the voices abruptly stopped.

There was a brief scuffling sound, an angry cry of “Hey!”, you turned your head toward the door, and Jean burst through.

He looked awful.  His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with dark circles; his hair was in disarray, his clothes haphazard, obviously hastily put on.  He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

Which brought the question, how long had you been out, exactly?

But as soon as he saw your face, your soft smile, your very much alive eyes staring at him, it was as if the entire world had been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Jean,” you said again, this time in a breathy whisper, as he strode over.  “Jean.”

He stood next to your bed, looking down at you, seemingly not knowing quite what to do with himself.

“Jean,” you breathed, your brows furrowing, “are you alright?  Are you okay?”

His eyes widened, his eyebrows shot up, and his lip imperceptibly quivered as he stared at you, appalled.

“Am _I_ okay?” he asked, his voice thick and cracking with emotion.  “You’re asking me . . . if _I’m_ okay?”

You nodded, brow still furrowed, looking him over worriedly.  But nevertheless, you reflected on how nice it was to hear his voice again.

The next few moments were a flurry of copper blond hair and rustling fabric, and before you even realized it, you were wrapped in Jean’s arms.

He had fallen into a half-sitting position on your hospital bed, his arms around you, pressing you to his chest so tightly that it was starting to hurt.  His face was nestled in the crook of your neck, his copper blond hair tickling the side of your face.  You felt the warmth of his shuddering breath on your neck, his fingers digging into your flesh as he clutched you as if he was drowning and you were the lifeline.  He was shaking uncontrollably, and as you whispered his name once more he clutched you even harder. 

But he was warm.  Oh god, was he warm.  His warmth seeped to your very soul, and you wrapped your arms around him as well.  Suddenly a sob choked at your throat, and you buried your face in his shoulder, your nails surely making marks as you dug into his skin, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

God, you had been afraid.  You had been so afraid of losing everything, of disappearing from this world.  

 Imagine, you, of all people, bringing about Jean Kirschtein’s moment of weakness.  You would have reveled in this moment if the force of his hug on your ribs wasn't causing tears of pain instead of relief to prick at your eyes.

“Jean. . . .,” you breathed again, shifting in his grasp.  “Tight . . . ribs. . . .”

As he comprehended your words he let go of you so fast the cold air on your skin made you shiver.  His arm was still holding you up, since he somehow knew you weren't able to keep yourself upright.  You saw his face clearly now as it hovered in front of yours, his hand caressing the side of your face, the rough, callused pad of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone.

Who knew Jean Kirschtein could be so gentle?

His tired eyes were soft, his dark circles seeming to fade as he looked at you.  You reached your hands up and ran them through his disheveled hair, like you had always thought of doing, and smiled tiredly.

“Why?” you breathed, [e/c] eyes searching his. 

“Why what?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Why are you so worried about me?” you answered.

There was silence.   

 “I don’t know,” he grumbled, his brows furrowing. 

“Come on,” you pressed, lips pursing in frustration.  “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated mulishly.  “You’re different.”

“Different how?”  

“I don’t know,” he snapped, and anger bubbled in your chest.  “You make me forget, I guess.  You stride into the mess hall with that shit-eating grin on your face and counter whatever I say like no one else I've ever met, and you make me forget that there’s man-eating giants just outside the walls and that humanity’s probably fucking doomed.  You make me forget that I could die before I even reach twenty in another accident when you’re not there, that my last moments could be all my limbs being crushed against a tree, that I’ll most likely lose all my friends in a couple years and –”  His breath caught in his throat, and his gaze darkened. “Is that enough, [Last]?  Now shut up, you’re making me angry,” he finished, and you could feel the heat of his anger boiling off of him.

“Geez, who’s the sap now?” you quipped, but your eyes were serious, searching.  You could see how he had never lost anything in his entire life, and the one thing that finally made him stop and appreciate it for once, you, were breaking in front of him, and he didn't know what to do. He was reaching out to you, but it was like trying to pick up all the pieces of a shattered vase by hand. 

You were unable to be saved, and perhaps you were never even worth it.

You sighed.

“You’re lucky I saved your ass, Kirschtein,” you said faintly, but with that ever distinctive edge in your tone.

“Yeah, I am,” he murmured as his eyes stared intently into yours.  You felt a blush spread over your cheeks, warmth pooling in your abdomen.

“Just use some fucking gas next time,” you breathed as your faces started to inch closer, by some unexplainable force, perhaps basic gravity; attraction at its simplest and finest. 

“Yeah.  I will,” he mumbled, and you could feel his warm breath fanning over your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you heard his breathing hitch, and your lips were so close, you could feel him drawing forward painfully slow, you wound your fingers around his collar, preparing to drag his lips down to yours –

“What the ever loving FUCK are you two doing?”

Jean jolted away from you like he had been pulled around the waist, but you were far too tired to do anything but slowly turn your head to see who had addressed you.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Keith Shadis repeated, his brows drawn low over his piercing yellow eyes.

“I believe that was Kirschtein’s way of thanking me for saving his life, sir,” you said, managing a weak salute and grinning impishly.

“Keep it in your pants, Kirschtein,” Shadis snapped, and Jean’s arm flew away from your waist as if you had burned him.  You started to fall backward, the muscles of your abdomen not prepared to hold you up quite yet, and a small noise of shock escaped your lips before Jean’s arm was back around you with the speed of a lightning bolt, jerking you back up so fast that you briefly wondered if he had given you whiplash. 

“Idiots,” Shadis grumbled, shaking his head, and then turning to you.  “I've come with your official diagnosis, Cadet [Last].”

You straightened, fear fluttering in your chest.  Jean sat up slowly, his arm still tight around you, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

“According to the resident nurse,” Shadis said in a bored tone, drawing a sheet of paper out from his coat, “and I quote, ‘Cadet [Last] is lucky that her organs didn't implode.  There is only minimal damage to her internal organs, excluding her lungs.  The shattering of her ribs into her lungs required invasive surgery, and upon closer inspection I found her lungs were punctured in 30 places.  She suffered a minor concussion, nothing to worry about.  Legs and arms received almost no damage whatsoever.  Recommended rest time is a minimum of three weeks.' ”  Shadis looked up at you, waiting for your questions.

“Can I still graduate, sir?” you asked, cursing the tremor in your voice.

“Naturally,” Shadis grumbled, stuffing the paper back into his coat.  “As long as you pass the final exam.  You’re lucky Kirschtein isn't built like Braun, or else you probably wouldn’t have survived.  How long do you request to rest for?”  He looked down his nose at you, piercing hawk eyes emitting a silent challenge.  Or, at least, you thought so.  Everything was an unspoken challenge to Shadis. 

“Two weeks tops, sir,” you said brusquely, and Jean’s fingers suddenly dug into your waist.

“Two weeks?!” he spluttered, but you held up a hand to silence him.

“Two weeks it is, then,” Shadis acquiesced with a curt nod, and you thought you detected a slight hint of admiration in his tone.  “After two weeks I expect you to ease yourself back into training.  I will give you six months at the maximum to bring yourself to the level you were at before.  Good day.”

And with that he strode out, hands clasped firmly behind his back.  The nurse then bustled in behind him, shooting a venomous look at Jean. 

“Out with you, sport,” she snapped, shooing him away with her hands.  “I have to perform an examination.”

“Two weeks?!” Jean yelped again, seemingly oblivious to the nurse.  “You’re gonna – two weeks?!   You can’t heal in two weeks!  You –”

“Can it, Jean,” you said exasperatedly, rolling your eyes.  “I can handle it.  Now get out, unless you have the uncontrollable desire to count how many bruises I've collected because of your incompetence.”

Jean pouted at you, eyebrows furrowing, but made sure you had enough pillows to prop you up before leaving with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, grumbling under his breath.

“Boys,” the nurse sighed as she unbuttoned your hospital gown with nimble fingers.  “Always trying to save somebody.  He’s just pissed that you did the saving,” she added with a wink, and you reddened.

You looked down at your exposed chest as the nurse started to poke and prod at it, and sucked in a breath.  

A long, straight scar ran right between your breasts, crisscrossed by neat black stitches.  The area from your neck down to your stomach was covered in bruises, some blossoming an ugly purple, others yellowing like spoilt milk.    Tiny lacerations that were already starting to scab up covered every square inch  of your torso, and for the first time since you had woken up you felt all the pain neatly piled on top of you, and you just wanted to sink back into the pillows and sleep for a couple years until it all went away.

“Not bad,” the nurse muttered, running a finger along the newly formed scar tissue.  “You’re a fast healer, kid.”

“So I've been told,” you sighed.  “So, how is it, Doc?”

“Well,” the nurse said matter-of-factly as she dug a cigarette out of her jacket.  “You’re healing better than I expected.  That three day slumber must’ve done you some good.”

As she placed the cigarette between her teeth, you stuttered, “Th-three days?!”

“Yep,” the nurse replied.  “Honestly, I was afraid you might never wake up.  Do you know how long that Horseboy was trying to get in here?  The rest of the trainees’ corps showed up with him, but everyone except him gave up after I told them it was against regulations to visit a sleeping patient.  He still stuck around, arguing with me whenever he had a spare moment.  That kid sure likes you.”

Your face turned red as a tomato, and you didn't respond, wishing that you had a scarf like Mikasa's that you could bury your face in.

The nurse laughed, buttoning up your hospital gown, then searching for a matchbox in her coat pockets.  “I should go tell everyone that you’re awake.  They’d love to see you.”

You groaned as the nurse strode off.  You were too exhausted for more social interaction today.  But all too soon a mound of people came bursting through the door, and you reflected how the nurse hadn't been lying when she said the whole trainees’ corps had been anxiously waiting for you to wake up.  All you could manage were a few nods and one or two weak smiles, as everyone hugged you, fussed over you, and in Christa’s case, shed some tears.  The Shiganshina trio were one of the first ones to come up to you, Mikasa’s brows arched in worry as she sat down in your bedside chair and wordlessly took your hand, Eren grasping your shoulder and promising that he would kick Jean’s ass for this, and Armin seemingly on the verge of tears as he repeatedly asked you if you were feeling alright, if you had enough pillows, if you were too hot or too cold.  Sasha collapsed on top of you next, snot running from her nose as she blubbered about how she had worried about you day and night, and reassuring you that your share at dinner hadn't gone to waste.  Ymir and Christa were next, Christa crying pretty tears and hugging you daintily, Ymir lightly shaking your shoulder and joking about Jean’s moodiness when told he couldn't see you.  Marco was as worried as Jean had been; smoothing your hair from your forehead and repeatedly saying how worried he had been.  He finally noticed how hard you were fighting to keep your eyelids open, and told everyone to leave so you could get some sleep.  There were a few more hugs, soft hands on arms, and shoulder grips before everyone finally filed out. 

You sighed contentedly as the door clicked shut behind Marco, who had shot you one last worried look before exiting.

As you sank down into the pillows, which suddenly seemed softer than lambs' wool, and your eyes started to flutter shut, you sleepily reflected on how warm you felt.  Not just physically warm, but like a film had been removed from over your eyes, and the colors of the world that had once been muted and cold now pulsed brightly in front of you, so warm, full of life.  You wondered how you had ever survived feeling so cold and empty all those years.

But even with all this warmth surrounding you, you were afraid.

Because you knew, life only let you be this happy when it was preparing to take something away from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duyên means "a predestined affinity; the force that binds two people together as friends or lovers in the future."- (wordstuck.co.vu)  
> as always, if you have prompts or questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	6. Cwtch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh damn i keep using fancy words from other languages in my chapter titles. this might become a recurring theme. whoops. cwtch is a welsh word that roughly translates to a really really great hug. I have no idea how to pronounce it google translate is not helping.  
> ah this is a really long chapter.  
> there will be a kiss soon. i promise. next chapter. maybe. possibly the one after that. idk i'm bad at breaking up chapters.

“Come on, is that all you got, Kirschtein?!”

Boots scuffed through the dirt, throwing up clouds of dust into the frigid winter air.  Puffs of breath quivered as they were tossed and torn aside by flying limbs.  It was a wonderful cacophony of scraping and exhaling, until the two of you were dancing to your own rhythms, your blows perfectly in sync with your pounding heartbeat, lending a wonderful accompaniment to the tempo of the blood rushing in your ears.  You grinned then, maniacally, excitedly, as you bobbed and weaved around Kirschtein’s slowly worsening punches and jabs.  You felt the cold settling into your bones like a stray cat, but you didn’t even mind.  It felt refreshingly cool, like a breeze on a summer day.  There was no way you could feel the least bit chilly now, not with all with all this blood and anger and feral aggression swirling through the air around you.

It was beautiful.  You took a deep breath of it, tasted the exertion and determination on your tongue, and you felt your heart pump faster, your throws growing more precise, more powerful.

“Shut – _up,”_ Kirschtein panted as he desperately tried to block your hits. 

“Aw, come on,” you drawled as you landed a well-placed kick to his shin, sending him almost down to the ground before he recovered with a sweeping low roundhouse that you easily hopped over.  “ _I’m_ the one who had my ribs shattered, for crying out loud.  _You_ should be the one kicking my ass.”

“I said be quiet, dumbass,” he growled in response as he sent a feral, furious, easily avoidable haymaker towards your jaw. 

You smirked.  At least now was the time for you to try out the move you saw Jaeger pull on Jean one night after a spar with Annie.  You had seen her absolutely kick Eren’s ass one day during hand to hand combat, as you were easily parrying Marco’s weak throws.  You always admired the short blonde girl, but even more so when you saw how powerful her kicks were.  But of course, you would add a little twist of your own. 

Just as Jean’s fist was about to make contact, his face devoid of any hesitation he had previously had of injuring you, you fell sideways. 

He balked, his fist immediately pulling back, obviously assuming you had fainted. 

Your foot moved in a wide circle through the dirt, you felt the centripetal force of your descent pulling on you, and you felt your head whistle extremely close to the ground.  As Jean was still trying to figure out what the ever loving fuck was happening, you planted both of your hands in the dirt, ground one heel down, and swung out with the other. 

Centripetal force sure is a bitch. 

Your foot hit Kirschtein’s ankles with such force that that alone was enough to send him falling.  But you weren’t quite done with him yet.  At the last moment, as the circular force you had built up was about to pull your foot away, you torqued it at a sharp angle. 

The extra energy from the circular force that hadn’t been expended in the kick came out in that moment.  You had learned this particular trick from a butcher in Jinae, who taught you that if you wanted to cause a little extra damage, you torque your foot at the last second.  This transfers the energy that was about to cause some damage to your foot to the opponent, but he always warned you to use it sparingly, as one wrong move and you could easily hyperextend the tendons in your ankle. 

 A string of extremely colorful expletives spewed from Kirschtein’s mouth as he dropped to the ground, hard, clutching his ankle.  You stood up in one fluid motion, sweeping your foot around until it landed next to the other. 

“Mother _fucker!”_ Jean spat, staring up at you with hate etched in every line of his face.  You didn’t even flinch.  Although this was a far cry from the mess of emotions he had been after your accident, this was all in the normal spectrum of Jean’s emotions for you.

You reflected with a wry smile on what Ymir had said to you two weeks after you were allowed to leave the infirmary, when Jean was still hovering around you, treating you as delicately as if you were made of glass.

“You shoulda seen it,” Ymir had said with a smirk, as Jean strode away angrily when you adamantly said that you could feed yourself.  “Geez, it was a sight to see.  Jean Kirschtein, the human with the shortest temper I’ve ever met, sprinting onto the training grounds with you limp and bloody in his arms, blubbering like a five year old.  I mean, he wouldn’t even let go of you until the nurse pried you from him.  And even then, he waited outside the infirmary every chance he could get, arguing with the nurse to let him in.  He was a mess those three days you were out.  I don’t think he slept at all.  I talked to Marco, and apparently he just tossed and turned all night.”  Here she paused, and snickered.  “Who knew Jean Kirschtein was such a sap?  For you, no less.  No offense, don’t look at me like that.  You two are always fighting and beating on each other, I would’ve thought he’d come into camp with you slung over his shoulder like a deer, crowing about how he finally won.” 

And now that blubbering, emotional Jean Kirschtein was on the ground in front of you, staring up at you maliciously, with every intention of beating you to a pulp the first chance he got.

“Aw, geez,” you said in mock sadness, crouching down so you were at eye level and sticking out your bottom lip.  “What ever happened to the emotional, extremely affectionate Kirschtein I saw in the infirmary?  You sure you don’t wanna give me a hug right now?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you a hug,” he snarled, lunging for you, but you danced out of reach with a laugh.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna catch me,” you sighed, shaking your head as you strolled back over to him.  “Now come on, get up.”  You extended a hand, and he glared at you, his eyes full of amber fire.  You were suddenly reminded of initiation day, when you had helped him up after Shadis’s headbutt.  And then you had given him a solid kick to the jaw.  You repressed the urge to smile at the thought.  That had been a good kick.

“Well, I _would,_ except I think you _broke_ my fucking _ankle,”_ he spat out, gesturing to it.

You rolled your eyes and made a tch sound.  “It’s not broken, or sprained, it just hurts.  I should know, I didn’t fall fast enough to cause any damage.  You’ll be fine.”

You abruptly grabbed him by the hand and hauled him to his feet, despite his cries of protest.  He balanced on one foot, the injured one dangling pathetically above the ground, his hand still clutching yours for balance.

“Go on, put weight on it,” you said with another eye roll.  “I promise you can walk.”

Shooting you a suspicious glance, he gingerly lowered his foot to the ground, testing it before settling back on his own two feet.  He shifted, adjusting his weight, and looked up at you again. 

He was still holding your hand.  You decided not to mention it.

“Alright, you finally done with your whining?  Can we head back now?”

“Yeah.  Sure,” he said softly, a dangerous light flashing across his eyes, but you were too slow to react.

He tackled you, and you were afraid to admit you were at total mercy of all the weight he had behind him.  In terms of body size, he outweighed you by a lot.  Even with all your experience of fighting men three times your size, when they utilized all their weight in a takedown like this, there was nothing you could do.  Almost none of them did, since they were worried about damaging themselves in the process, but you could see that Kirschtein was well past the point of caring.  You tried to wriggle away to fall to the side, but the hand that had been holding your own was like a vice, and he had your other hand trapped as well.

You hit the ground hard, all the air knocked out of you, your heart beating a staccato rhythm, this time not out of excitement, but out of fear.  Memory upon memory flashed through your mind, the East Rose baker boy when you were nine with his smelly breath and sweaty hands, the new Military Police recruit when you were 14, a group of Garrison soldiers last year.  Granted, you had managed to escape all of them, because even though most had had military martial arts training, none of them were skilled.

But Jean Kirschtein was.

If rational thought hadn’t decided to abruptly depart, it would’ve told you that Jean would never do this, he had too much pride, and this was just a petty revenge tactic to one-up you after you had humiliated him.  But rational thought had been kicked out by fear and pure instinct.

You struggled to get air back into your lungs, your hands furling and unfurling, trying to escape Kirschtein’s grip.  Your pupils were dilated to the utmost, fixed on his dark amber eyes as they hovered over you.  You had expected all his weight to hit you, driving you further into the earth, but he was holding all of it on his elbows, but if possible, that was even worse.  They always hovered.  They always hovered, with their roaming hands, their breath on your neck, all of that weight over you, reminding you just how powerless you were.

Air started to trickle back into your lungs, and you started to writhe back and forth, all those techniques you had learned forgotten, fear and panic driving your movements into a wild frenzy.  You started to breath faster, wriggling your legs where they were trapped under his, trying to get a knee free to slam it into his diaphragm.  You were supposed to shrimp out to the side, place your feet on his hipbones, and then as he tried to reel back, pull him forward, and send a volley of kicks to his jaw and chest.

But you forgot all of that. 

As the panic rose to a crescendo, cold fear clutched your heart, spreading static and numbness throughout you.  You couldn’t think, you couldn’t do anything, you were trapped trapped trapped trapped _trapped –_

Your usual cool demeanor slipped, and you were unable to keep the fear off of your face. 

And Jean sure as hell noticed.

He drew back slightly, blinking, the malevolence abruptly gone, replaced by surprise, and worry.

Finally, your chest was free from the grip Jean fucking Kirschtein had placed it in, air rushing back into your lungs full force.

“GET OFF ME!” you screeched, expending the last of your energy to tear your wrists from his grip and scrabble backward, totally dirtying your trousers in the process.  You were going to curse yourself later for that as you tried to scrub it out in the laundry, but you were far from thinking about that now.  

You were a good distance away from him, and the fear abruptly left you, leaving your heart trying to catch up with your mind as it struggled for rationality, and your legs feeling like jelly.  Your fingernails dug into the dirt as you stared, unblinking at Jean, who was sitting on his heels, staring at you like he had never seen you before. 

“What . . .?” he breathed, his amber eyes wide, slightly afraid.

“You seem to have forgotten,” you ground out, your voice quivering like a droplet of water about to fall, “what happens to girls in this world.”

Realization dawned on his face, quickly followed by horror.  He slumped back, bringing his hands up from where they were dangling at his sides to stare at them.  He furled and unfurled his fingers, and then looked up at you again, his eyes wider than saucers. 

“[First]. . . I . . .,” he stammered, and then stopped, clamping his mouth shut.  You were glad for that.  You hated the excuses they tried to spew after you had thoroughly kicked their asses, how they cowered in front of you now that you were the one in charge.  You especially hated how the Military Police always brushed it off, with the same old “boys will be boys” that everyone always said. 

“It’s fine,” you said softly, dropping your gaze to stare at your boots, covered in dirt and grime.  “You didn’t know.  You just startled me, is all.”

You slowly rose to your feet, and chanced one last look at him.  He was still crouched, looking horrified, his hands shaking in front of him.  You tried to manage a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.  “It’s alright, really,” you tried to assure him, but the tremor in your voice and the shaking of your limbs said the opposite.

“[First],” Jean choked out, but you were already striding away, cursing the tears that were starting to sting your eyes.

_You must not cry you must not cry you must not cry no stop don’t cry no no no no no no no stop crying stop crying stop it –_

* * *

 

He found you later, of course.  You knew each other too well to effectively hide from one another. 

You were leaning against the outside back wall of the 3dmg storage shed, your knees drawn to your chest, your chin resting on them.  It was the building furthest away from the others, and if you caught it on a clear night, you got a good view of the stars.

You were searching for The Great Bear when you heard footsteps.  You didn’t even bother to turn your head.  You heard a soft sigh and then a plop as he settled down next to you. 

“Hey,” you breathed, your skin tingling as his arm brushed yours.

“What’cha lookin’ for?” he responded, and out of the corner of your eye you saw him look up as well.

“The Great Bear,” you simply said, not expecting him to know what you were talking about or care.  It wasn’t like Jean to beat around the bush, and you knew he would get to the issue sooner or later.  You pulled your knees in closer to your chest.  You didn’t want to talk about it.  You never wanted to even think of it ever again.  But you knew it had to be said, it was like a piece of wood stuck in the palm of your hand, if you didn’t remove it, it would fester and rot, and it would only hurt more to pull it out the longer you waited. 

“That’s not in season, dumbass,” he snorted, and you looked at him in awe.  You had never met anyone else who knew about the stars.  “You gotta wait till spring.”

“Well, is Orion in season?” you responded stubbornly, turning back around with a huff.

“Yeah,” he said irritably, and pointed up to the sky, sweeping his index finger through three stars perfectly in line.  “That’s his belt, see?  And then those four are his body, and those are his arms.” 

You were totally clueless as to how people got a picture out of that, but you smiled. “You suck at explaining constellations.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, shoving you with his shoulder, and you laughed.

There were a few moments of silence.

You waited.

“Did they ever –?  I mean –,” Jean stuttered, and your fingers dug into your legs.

“No,” you responded softly, your gaze down now, staring at the buckles of your 3dmg harness reflecting the moonlight.  “They never got that far.  I always managed to shove them off.”

Silence reigned once more, until Jean broke it a few minutes later with the uneasy clearing of his throat. 

“Listen, I uh – I’m really sorry I was just mad that you beat me I was being petty I’m sorry I didn’t know I would scare you,” he said all in one exhale, and as he finished he glanced nervously over to you.

“It’s alright,” you replied, with certainty this time, you knew, as you stared into his amber eyes.  “You just startled me.  An – incident – happened . . . last year.  And I guess I, uh . . . I’m still shaken.  But it’s not you, I promise.”  You smiled at him, a soft, world-weary smile.  You could feel the heaviness of what had been done to you, what you had seen; sinking in the lines of your face and into your eyes, and you knew Jean saw it.  “I trust you.”

He scoffed.  “Why should you?  My record isn’t very clean.”  His gaze was dark as he stared at his hands again.

“I don’t care.”  You looked up at the sky again, and for a moment, just a moment, you forgot about everything, about the inevitability of you being sent to an early grave, about the wide, leering faces, about the stiffness of the leather jacket on your shoulders, about the weight of the promises it held, about the blood, the slaughter, and the pain, and you lost yourself in the stars.  “I trust you.”

With an exasperated sigh, Jean Kirschtein rose to his feet.  You looked up at him quizzically, the lines of his cheekbones thrown into sharp relief by the starlight behind him.  He was positively glowing.  You had never really reflected on starlight until that moment, but the way it dipped and curved into the muscles of his shoulders and arms, the tendons of his neck, the planes of his face, it fascinated you.  But perhaps, it wasn’t the starlight at all, you pondered, maybe it was just Jean.  Maybe it had been just Jean all along.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he grumbled, extending a rough, callused hand.  You took it without hesitation.  Without letting go, he started to walk.  His hand was very soft, yet rough at the same time, much like Jean himself, you mused.

And all of a sudden, as you were staring at the jutting of his shoulders as he walked in front of you, your hand still firmly grasped in his, every feeling you had tamped down over the hours rose to a crescendo, and you came to a complete stop.

Jean turned around, obviously puzzled, but your back was to the light now, and he couldn’t read your expression.  Everything was bouncing around inside of you, and you felt ready to burst.  A tiny noise escaped from the back of your throat, a choked, almost-sob noise, but it was as loud as an avalanche in the crisp winter night air.

Before he could react or say anything, you threw the last fuck you could have given off of the proverbial cliff, and rushed toward him in a flash of almost inhuman speed.

You felt him jolt as you wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed yourself into his chest.  You breathed in the smell of the fabric of his shirt, it smelled of pine trees and hay and warmth.  You exhaled shakily, your fingernails digging into his skin, before you collected yourself with a sharp inhale through your nose, and stepped away.

If there was some way to capture the look on his face just then, you would have gone up against the whole Military Police brigade if you had to.  His jaw was hanging loosely, his eyes reflecting the starlight, turning them into a whirling pool of silver and amber as he blinked.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, finding the ring on your left hand and twisting it.  “I guess . . . I just needed a hug.  You’re the first person I’ve hugged in years, you know.”

“Enough with the goddamn sob stories already,” you heard him growl, but as you looked up it was your turn to be surprised.

Your face was once again pressed into his shirt, but now his arms were tightly around you.  They were warm, large, encircling, and in a fleeting desperate moment you wanted to cry out and tell him to never let go.

As you returned the crushing embrace, he continued, “What’s with you and the sad stories anyway?  Geez.”

“Well I guess sappy Kirschtein isn’t just a one-time thing after all,” you said, grinning cheekily into his shirt.  A low grumbling noise resonated through his chest, and he pressed you to him tighter.  You laughed, and inhaled his scent, closing your eyes and letting it soothe your nerves.

Yeah.  This felt right.  This felt like home.  You had never had a home, all those long years, and you had always thought it meant a building that you could return to, someplace you felt safe, comfortable.  But you were beginning to realize that that wasn’t the case at all.  Home was the smell of pine trees and warm earth, piercing amber eyes and shit-eating grins, sarcastic comments, rudeness, asshole-ishness, warm hugs and obstinacy. 

This was home.  _He_ was home.

“We should head back,” you mumbled against his shirt, and you felt him sigh.

“Yeah.”

You disentangled yourself from him, but walked only a few inches away from him as you headed back. You didn’t want to feel cold ever ever again.

And even when the two of you parted, with red cheeks and soft smiles, even when you climbed into your lonely top bunk, you were still so very, very warm.

* * *

 

It took you six months to get back on your feet.  Jean was still fussing over you constantly, checking on you every time you finished a round of 3dmg training.  You were well into your second year of training now, and there was barely a moment to spare, even to sleep and eat.  More often than not the “emergency” bell rang in the middle of the night, or during a meal, causing everyone to scramble to their feet, throw on their gear, and run out to the training field where Shadis would give them instructions. 

You and Jean hadn’t shared another hug since that night under the stars.  In fact, it was as if it had never even happened, but you knew it nagged at the back of his consciousness, especially when you sparred, when he would lock you in his signature hold, your back pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you.  It felt so nice that sometimes you almost forgot you were supposed to be trying to escape.  After especially long days you wished it was perfectly acceptable to sneak into his bunk and have your aching muscles soothed by his intense body heat. 

And then, as spring rolled around and the days grew hotter and hotter, you started to figure it out. 

It hit you one day, one especially scorching day, when Jean took his shirt off.  The two of you had been sparring for hours, courtesy of Shadis, who had scheduled hand-to-hand combat training for the entire day.  He, quote, was “extremely dissatisfied with the pigshit you pissants are pulling out there.”  You, of course, had picked Jean as your partner, as everyone else was too easy, and you wouldn’t spar with Annie or Mikasa unless you had a death wish.  Jean was the only one closest to your skill, but your sparring matches almost always ended in arguments and extremely short fuses afterwards. 

It was going well so far.  You had shed your thick leather jacket, and the short-sleeved blouse you were wearing underneath was already sticky with sweat.  Jean seemed like he was about to pass out, almost half the buttons on his shirt were open, exposing the curving lines of his pectorals and a few curls of sparse dark brown chest hair.  You gulped, trying to focus on the match instead of the droplets of sweat rolling down his collarbone. 

“You . . . need a break?” you panted, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

“No,” he replied stubbornly, scowling at you.  “Just gimme a minute.”

And that was when it all went to hell.  He started popping the clasps of his 3dmg harness, and a strange excited thrill reverberated its way up your spine.  He fought with the belts and clasps for a minute or two until he was completely free, then began to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way.

You were enjoying this way more than you should.  Finally all the buttons were open, and he shrugged his shirt off in one fluid motion.  And you swore to whatever god there was, wall affiliated or not, that everything moved in slow motion. His shirt whipped through the air, sweat flying off of it in glittering droplets, and you watched the way his arm and abdominal muscles flexed and stretched as the shirt hit the ground with a soft fwump, and he turned around to face you again.  You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the glistening curves of his abs, and the sloping lines of his hips and the faint trail of hair leading tantalizingly below his waistline had heat thrumming in your stomach.

You were fucked.  Totally and utterly fucked.  Jesus fucking Christ, you had it _bad._

All you could manage to say was, “Are you crazy?” as you settled back into fighting stance.  “Shadis’s gonna kill you if he finds out you took your harness off.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he responded tiredly.  “It’s too fucking hot.”

“You’re lucky,” you grumbled.  “Girls can’t take their shirts off.”

His face immediately reddened, as he undoubtedly imagined just what was under there.  “W-What, you’re not wearing a bra or something?” he stuttered with a shaky smirk.

Your eyes narrowed dangerously, your temper sparking as easily as dry grass, and you struck faster than a viper. 

“H-Hey!” Jean cried as he barely managed to dodge your strikes.  “I was kidding!  Jesus!”

“Just – so – you – know,” you said through gritted teeth between throws.  “I _am_ – wearing one – jackass.”

“Just take your fucking shirt off then,” he snapped, rolling his eyes, and this comment earned him an almost bone-shattering roundhouse kick to the knee.  “MOTHERFUCKER!  Not like THAT!  You’re gonna fucking overheat if you keep it on!”

You stepped back to allow him a few moments to recover, eyeing him skeptically.

“Fuck it,” you groaned, popping the clasps of your harness off with nimble fingers.  You quickly slipped the belts off, and as you were unbuttoning your blouse you took this chance to take a glance at Kirschtein. 

His mouth was falling open, his eyes wide, a fiery blush spreading over his face and to the tips of his ears.  _Jesus, did_ I _look like that?_ you thought in embarrassment as you shrugged the blouse off of your shoulders.  You just gave silent thanks that you hadn’t chosen to wear one of your more – ahem – skin revealing bras today.  Instead, you had picked a standard trainees’ corps sports bra, with the crossed sword logo splashed over the middle of your chest.  But even with it being a sports bra, it revealed more of your chest than you were completely comfortable with.

If possible, Jean got even redder; his eyes following the curves of your chest and flicking down to your impressive abs,  and you abruptly barred yourself from thinking that his – _little friend –_ was probably standing at attention. 

“You gonna stare forever?” you snapped, self-consciously crossing your arms in front of yourself. 

He started, and stared up at your face, and there was something in his eyes that you didn’t recognize.  He made an affirmative grunt and stood up, dusting his pants off, trying to seem nonchalant. 

You rolled your eyes, and settled back into the balls of your feet, bringing your fists up near your face.

You had thought that fighting him shirtless would be the same as fighting him clothed.

You were dead wrong. 

The minute your hands landed on those supple, taut muscles, you blushed bright red and warmth spread through you.  You were endlessly grateful at that moment that you didn’t have a penis. 

You tried to avoid touching him as much as you could, but there really wasn’t anything you could do.  The more you touched him, the more you wrestled to get him on the ground to end the fight, the more you wanted to press your body to his and kiss him until neither of you could breathe.  These thoughts only served to make things worse, but luckily for you Jean was the same way.

At one particular moment his hand brushed the side of your breast as he tried to grip you under the arms, so he could lock you in a hold, and he jumped back as if you had pricked him.  You didn’t particularly mind, it wasn’t as if he had done it on purpose.  But it was as if the world was ending for Jean; he stood there, completely still, the hand that had brushed you still hovering awkwardly in the air. 

“It’s just a body part, Kirschtein,” you sighed irritably.  “I’m sure you’ll get to touch a lot more when you join the Police.”  He made a small squeaking noise, and you couldn’t contain your small laugh.  “What, never touched a woman before?”  His face looked like it was about to implode, and your eyebrows shot up.  “Well, this is a surprise.  Lady’s man Jean Kirschtein hasn’t been with a girl?  Did Mikasa raise your standards impossibly high or something?”

His eyes narrowed.  “Well, you haven’t been with anyone either,” he snapped.

“Correct,” you said with a grin, sending a wide swinging punch to his jaw, which he deftly blocked with his forearm.  “The closest I’ve gotten to an intimate relationship is with you, Horseface.  Congrats.”  You were just determined to embarrass him now.  You got a sort of maniacal glee out of watching him squirm and blush from your comments.

He remained silent, but began to fight with greater vigor, the blush still splashed across his cheeks. 

In your attempts to touch him as little as possible, you had thrown yourself horribly off balance, and were desperately trying to work around it.  Suddenly, as you were about to pull your centripetal force move to quickly finish the fight before you got any other provocative ideas, you tripped.  If you had been properly balanced, you would have righted yourself in an instant. But you were not properly balanced. You were dangerously off balance, teetering away from Jean’s sharp jab so you didn’t have to block it.  You fell forward, arms flailing, straight into Jean.  The sudden change in direction caught him off guard, and he stumbled, sending you both to the ground.

And Fate, the one who loved embarrassment more than anything else, had landed you right on top of him.  You were still as stone, transfixed, your hands resting against his pectorals, your hips locked against his.  Your faces were dangerously close, and you wanted to kiss him so bad.

But you didn’t.  You were going to graduate in a few months; he was going to the Inner Wall, and you were going to an early grave in the forsaken plains of Wall Maria.  The closer you got to him, the more destroyed he would be when you came back to him in pieces, because, really, who else would they send you to?

And so you rolled off him with a sigh, slowly putting your shirt back on and strapping yourself into your gear.

“Good match, Kirschtein,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at him still sitting on the ground.  “I’m gonna go get some food.”

You trudged off, resisting every single urge to rush back and kiss him until you couldn’t feel anymore.

“Hey!” you heard his voice call, and you turned to look at him.  He was staring at you, a lopsided grin stretching across his stupid too-handsome face.  “You gonna help me up?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you trudged back to give him a hand.    “Come on, dumbass.  Let’s get some dinner.”

He snickered, and the two of you walked off.

And all through dinner, you tried not to think of Jean's hips locked against yours, and the hard length that had been pressed into your thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, if you have a prompt or a question or somethin else, send it to my tumblr, jean--biscuit  
> (P.S. I'm going to be writing a plotless jean/reader smut soon because i have lost control of my life)


	7. Drunken Horses Tend to Cause Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise promise PROMISE there will be a kiss soon, there's just a lot of shit that has to happen first. Possibly in the next chapter? idk

Graduation hit you like a slap in the face.  Before you were even sure you were ready, you were standing in front of the Forest of Casualties (as it had started to be called), waiting for Keith Shadis to give the signal for the whole trainees’ corps to start their final exam.  You were standing between Jean and Marco, as had become the norm these days, poised and ready, fingers itching for your blades. 

The exam was plain and simple, careen your way through the forest, cut up as many Titan dummies as you could, and try not to die. 

“You ready?” you heard Jean breathe from your right, and a lopsided-grin you had unfortunately caught from him spread across your face.

“Yeah, ready to kick your ass,” you said excitedly, and he snorted.

“As if.  Your ass is the one that’s gonna get kicked.”

“You wanna bet?” you asked sweetly, turning slightly from your position to look at him.  “You still need to cash in on your other one, though.”

“What other one?” he asked curiously, blinking.

“Oh, you know, the one you made in the beginning of training, that I would fall for you in three months,” you replied with a wicked grin.

He flushed a deep red and whipped away from you with a grumble.  You chuckled to yourself and settled back into position, balancing on the balls of your feet, hands swinging at your side, twitching, and your whole body tensed.  You strained your ears, waiting for the crack of the red flare, the signal to start.

And then there it was.

Without a second thought you whipped your blade holders from their holsters by your chest, drew your blades, and shot off like a bolt of lightning.  You couldn’t control your laughter as you sailed through the trees, deftly attaching and detaching your hooks from tree branch to tree branch.  You picked up the grinding sound of gears, and saw the first Titan dummy swing out in front of you.  It was a basic wooden cutout in the shape of a Titan, with a pad at the back of its neck that you were supposed to aim for. You readied your blades, expelled a large puff of gas, and carved through the dummy’s neck with brutal force, severing it almost down to the wood. 

You giggled with glee as you sped away, already readying yourself for the next target.  You could hear whoops and shouts from the other trainees, and some from behind you, even, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.  You had to be completely and utterly focused to place as high as possible, and no one, not even Jean, was going to mess it up.  Of course, you certainly wouldn’t get number one, or two or three or four, since those spots were unofficially taken by Mikasa, Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie, respectively.  There was no doubt about that, those four would place the highest, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.  There were would be no placing for you above five, you knew.

You just hoped the wild card, Jaeger, wouldn’t be too much of a problem.  That kid had improved in just over a year, thanks to his nearly suicidal tendencies, and fierce determination like nothing you had ever seen.  You just hoped Jaeger placed above Jean, just to see the look on his face. 

Another grinding sound ricocheted toward you, and you swiveled to find Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner already on top of it, swinging their blades almost in unison.  You cursed under your breath and changed direction, expelling more gas than was probably wise.  The faster you found the Titan dummies, and put your mark in them first, the better your final grade would be.  You felt a whoosh of air, and saw Mikasa whizz past you, red scarf billowing gracefully in the wind behind her.  You shook your head.  You knew you shouldn’t even bother trying to compete with her.  She was on a completely different level from everyone else, more so than you had ever seen. 

The minutes dragged by.  You took down every Titan dummy you found, excepting the ones that had already been carved to pieces by the others.  It would do you no good to slice into those, the miniscule amount of points it gave you wouldn’t be helpful in the least.  And so you gritted your teeth and moved on, briefly feeling sympathy for the trainees who weren’t very physically skilled, such as poor Armin, who you knew, without even having to go check, was lagging dangerously behind.  You hoped the poor kid would at least graduate, since he seemed so attached to Eren and Mikasa.

After around an hour of swinging and cutting, the Titan dummies started to appear less and less, and you knew you were nearing the end of the exam.  Anxiety fluttered in your stomach.  Had you done well enough?  Were your cuts deep enough?  You had improved slowly at the 3dmg, especially since your surgery had near crippled you, and even at your best condition, you hadn’t been able to accomplish the wide, sweeping turns that were often required to take down Titans.  You were more skilled at attacking in short, ferocious bursts; you pulled off tighter turns than anyone else in the corps.  The way you handled your hooks and gas usage was extremely skilled, and although you weren’t as much of a “specialist” as Jean (so he had been labeled), you still felt you were pretty good with this stuff.  And if this failed, where else would you go?

You gritted your teeth, trying to banish the anxiety from your mind, and flew on, looking for the telltale bright red flags that would signal the exam finish line. 

You emerged from the thick forest into a wide clearing, where two tall bright red flags were set up.  Mikasa, Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner were already down there, and you cursed.  You pressed your gas levers all the way down, and sped to the ground.  You heard the sound of someone else’s wires whirring, but the roaring in your ears was too loud for you to care.  You hit the ground hard, skidding in the dirt and throwing up a cloud of dust.  You managed to keep your balance, and not fall on your face, thank god.

You heard a loud shout of “son of a BITCH!” and Jean landed next to you, hooks whistling back into his belt, his glare murderous. 

“Pay up, Kirschtein,” you quipped with a triumphant grin, holding out your hand.

“Shut up,” he snapped as he dug a handful of coins from his jacket pocket and handed them to you.  His fingers brushed yours, and you tried to suppress a blush.  Jesus, were you in so deep that just touching hands would send you into a blubbering mess?

“Thank you,” you drawled as you dumped them into an inside pocket of your jacket, closing it with a loud snap.

“Shut it,” he repeated, crossing his arms angrily.  “You must’ve cheated.”

“Did not,” you replied confidently.  “It’s called skill, Kirschtein.  Can’t wait to place above you in the top 10.”

He was really mad now, and you loved it.  You loved making him furious even more than you loved making him blush.  His face was red with fury, his fists clenched.

“Aw, go on, Horseface,” you taunted, placing your hands on your hips.  “You know you can’t beat me.”

He lunged at you with a feral growl and you darted away with a laugh.  You deftly evaded everything he threw at you, and with a quick display of your centripetal force move, which the others had taken to calling the Dust Grinder, he was hunched over on the ground, clutching his ankle. 

“Why do I even try?” he sighed, flopping onto his back and letting his arms fall out to the sides.  You crouched down beside him, peering into his face, and it was tired, beaten.  “Guess you really are better than me.”

You smiled softly, and said, “You know for a fact that you’re way better at 3dmg than me.  And that’s all that matters.”

“Not where I’m going,” he snorted, staring wistfully up to the sky. 

“Whatever, Horseface,” you sighed, flopping down onto the ground next to him. 

“Are your ribs okay?” he mumbled, still stubbornly staring upwards. 

“They’ve been okay for months, dumbass,” you said exasperatedly. 

“I’m just checking, geez,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re such a mother.”

“Am not!” he protested hotly, bolting up into a sitting position.

“Are so,” you teased with a playful grin.

“Does your mother have these muscles?” he responded, flexing his biceps arrogantly.

“Dunno.  Does being in the afterlife give you muscles?” you mused, staring up at the clouds racing each other across the sky. 

“Oh.  Sorry,” Jean said quietly, and you heard him lie back down. 

“’S fine,” you mumbled, and you were shocked to find that you didn’t feel even a little twinge of sadness at the memory.  Granted, most of them hadn’t been particularly pleasant. 

“You two done flirting?” a rough voice said from above you, and you looked up at the hulking form of Reiner Braun.

“Nope,” you quipped, and you heard Jean choke on his own spit from next to you. 

A deep rumble of a laugh reverberated through Reiner’s frame, and he grinned down at you.  “You better get up, kiddos.  Shadis’ll be here soon.”

“Who’s the kiddo, kiddo?” you replied playfully, but you rose to your feet nonetheless.  “Come on, Horseface.”

Groaning loudly, Jean rose to his feet, stretching luxuriously.  You rolled your eyes and tched. 

One by one the rest of the 104th trainees’ corps arrived, boots throwing up puffs of dust and dirt, the air filled with the whistling and clinking of the 3dmg.  Eren landed after Jean, which resulted in a fistfight, naturally, then Marco, Connie, Sasha, Christa, and Ymir.   Nervous chatter and shifting feet were the only sounds present when Keith Shadis swung into view, looking almost comically graceful as he flew down to the ground.

“ALRIGHT, YOU SHITS,” he barked, and you all instinctively snapped to attention, pressing your fists to your hearts with a loud “HAH!” of response.  “IT SEEMS YOU’VE ALL MANAGED TO COMPLETE THE FINAL EXAM AND NOT KILL YOURSELVES IN THE PROCESS.  CONGRATS.  BUT IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA JUST SIT AROUND ON YOUR ASSES BECAUSE YOU’VE COMPLETED YOUR FINAL EXAM, YOU ARE DEAD FUCKING WRONG.  YOU STILL HAVE TO TRAIN AND DO CHORES AROUND THIS SHITHOLE, YOU HEAR ME?”

There was a resounding cry of “SIR, YES, SIR!” but you were barely even listening.  The roaring of the blood in your ears drowned everything else out as excitement tingled through your veins. 

You had done it.  You had actually fucking done it.  [First] [Last], former street urchin and orphanage connoisseur, was a graduated member of the military now.  Three years and three birthdays later, and here you were.  How quickly time seemed to fly by; the first awkward year, and then the two even more awkward ones after that, when your body had grown and rounded out into a shape you hadn’t thought you could ever possess, which resulted in more boys than just Jean paying attention to you. 

“REPORT TO THE TRAINING GROUNDS TOMORROW FOR THE FINAL GRADUATION SPEECH AND ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE TOP 10 TRAINEES.  DISMISSED!”

With another “SIR, YES, SIR!” the trainees saluted, then quickly disbanded, breaking off into groups to head back to the barracks for dinner.  You jogged over to Jean and Marco, who were standing to one side.

Marco smiled when he saw you, and you managed a tired grin.  The exam had expended almost all of your energy, and you wanted to do nothing more than curl up into a ball and sleep for days. 

“How’d you do, [First]?” Marco asked casually, leading the way back. 

“Dunno,” you shrugged, and Jean scoffed.

“Like she always does.  Better than us,” he said bitterly, and you visibly winced. 

“Don’t be a sore loser, Jean,” Marco teased, and when Jean shot him a murderous glance, he only laughed and grinned wider.

“You probably did better than I did,” you admitted, nudging Jean’s shoulder lightly.  “You were always better than me at 3dmg.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” he grumbled, striding in front of you and Marco, hands in his pockets.

You sighed loudly.  You had really picked a great person to place your affections in, hadn't you?

“He’ll be fine.  He just wants to get into the Police, is all,” Marco reassured you.

“Yeah.  I know.”

* * *

The graduation ceremony, of course, started with a depressing speech.

“We have paid a terrible price for our 100 years of peace,” the official at the front of the crowd called gravely.  “There was no way we could have reacted to the sudden apparition of that colossal titan given our current level of alertness. . . .  As a result . . . we had to abandon our foremost wall: Wall Maria.  Mankind’s territory has shrunk down to the limits of Wall Rose, within which we stand presently.”

_Yes, we know, we know,_ you thought exasperatedly to yourself.  You desperately wanted to mumble a sarcastic comment, but knew that Shadis would probably kill you himself if you did.

“Even as we speak, it’s very plausible that this Colossal Titan . . . might tear down the Wall to come at us any second, now,” the official continued.  “When that time comes, your duty will be to assist the manufacturers . . . sacrificing your lives to oppose the Titan threat.  YOU WILL SACRIFICE YOUR ALL!” he suddenly barked, causing you to jump a little, but you still managed to salute and yell in response, “SIR!”

“Today, you have completed your military training . . . I will now announce the 10 best among those who obtained satisfactory results.  Step forward at the mention of your name.”

You gulped, your stomach roiling.  This was it.  This was the moment when you found out if you could really cut it in the real world or not.  Well, technically, being in the top 10 didn’t really matter all that much to you.  You weren’t planning on going to the Military Police.  But still, it was nice to be one of the best.

“First: Mikasa Ackerman.”

You sighed.  That wasn’t really much of a surprise.  Mikasa strode forward, her face like stone, and her red scarf billowing out behind her.

“Second: Reiner Braun.”

Reiner strode forward arrogantly, a triumphant grin stretched over his face.

“Third: Bertholdt Fubar.”

Bertholdt shuffled forward, sweat dripping down his face, trying to look as serious as he could.  Bertholdt was always trying to look serious, you thought, but the constant sweating really defeated the purpose.

“Fourth: Annie Leonhardt.”

Another one that wasn’t much of a surprise.  Annie walked forward, ice blue eyes as cold and harsh as ever, her signature scowl twisting her lips.

“Fifth: [First] [Last].”

You felt as if someone had just hurled a brick into your stomach.  All the air absent from your lungs, you instinctually walked forward, trying to keep the shocked look off of your face, trying to look serious, like a soldier. 

_You_ were fifth?!  In the whole trainees’ corps?!  How the everloving fuck did _that_ happen?!  Jean should have been fifth, hell, _Eren_ should have been fifth!  What were you good at?  What skill did you possess that put you so far above your friends?  You stood shakily next to Annie, trying to stifle your anxiety, knowing that with her razor-sharp perception, she could probably smell it. 

But _fifth?!_ Excitement and extreme apprehension welled up inside of you.  You shouldn’t be fifth.  You were throwing your life away to the Scouting Legion.  Give fifth place to someone good and kind, who would go into the Military Police and try to fix that clusterfuck of an organization.  Out of the four called before you, only Mikasa planned on joining the Scouts, and that was only because Eren was joining. 

You didn’t belong here, standing with these exceptional people who had skills that you could never even dream of achieving. 

Maybe you never did belong here.

“Sixth: Eren Jaeger.”

You winced.  Eren strode up, his brows furrowed in anger, as always, and stood next to you, hands clasped behind his back.  You could feel the excitement radiating off of him, the intense murderous desire.  It scared you a little bit, to be honest.

You spotted Jean in the crowd, visibly sweating, dismay plastered over his face.  You dropped your gaze.  _He_ should be in fifth place, not you.  He was going places.  Although he was an asshole, he still had a sense of justice, of right and wrong.  He would rise up the ranks in the Military Police, you were sure, he would change it, change it for the better.  You just hoped your impending early demise didn’t throw too big of a wrench into his plans.

“Seventh: Jean Kirschtein.”

You couldn’t look at him as he strode up.  This was all your fault.  It was always your fault.  You had taken his dream away from him. 

Seventh place wasn’t good.

Seventh place wasn’t good at all.

“Eighth: Marco Bodt.”

Marco strode up, grinning wildly, and you were yet again surprised at this kid.  How could anyone be smiling about getting _eighth_ place?  But that was Marco, ever the optimist, ever the smiling one, always the one to cheer everyone up at the end of a hard day.  You wouldn’t know how anyone would survive without him.

“Ninth: Connie Springer.”

You heard Connie stifle a whoop and bound up, grinning wildly.  You could understand why Connie was so overjoyed.  He had been so convinced that he was at the bottom of the rankings, since his grades in the academic part of the training were decidedly less than satisfactory.

“Tenth: Sasha Braus.” 

Sasha walked up, smiling, and you knew in an instant that she wasn’t even thinking of the fact that she had placed tenth, but rather of the celebratory feast afterwards.

“That is all,” the official concluded, and the 10 of you saluted silently.  “Now that you’ve completed your formations . . . you have three alternatives.  The Stationary Troops, reinforcing the walls, and protecting every town.  The Scouting Legion, ready to sacrifice their lives outside the walls to engage the Titans on their home turf.  And the King-controlled Military Police, who regulate the population and maintain order.  It goes without saying, but among the freshest recruits . . . only the top 10 may directly apply for the Military Police force.  Tomorrow you will apply for your assignments.  And today marks the end and the disbanding of the 104th trainees’ squad . . . over!”

And with one last salute and a cry of “SIR!”, the ceremony ended, and you were a member of the military.  Elation soared within you, and you couldn’t help a small grin making its way to your face. 

You had done it. 

You were here.

* * *

Later that night, and the dining hall was all laughter and commotion.  Shadis had thrown up his hands after the ceremony and barked that you all could do whatever the fuck you wanted for the rest of the night.  Someone (cough cough Sasha) had managed to find ten large barrels of alcohol in the storeroom, and the whole 104th trainees’ squad was sharing it amongst themselves.

Excepting you, of course.

You had a deep hatred for alcohol, and even the smell of it was enough to make your stomach revolt.  You just prayed that no one asked you why you weren’t drinking any, before too many bad memories resurfaced.

You were sitting at a table with Jean and Marco, Jean already pretty drunk, and Marco sipping at his drink casually.  You had a brief desire to see what Marco acted like when he was drunk, but it quickly slipped away.  Drunk people frightened you as well, and your anxiety had been growing as Jean downed mug after mug. 

“I wish I was part of the top 10 like you guys!” a boy named Axel whined as he strode over, downing a sip of alcohol.  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t join the Police anyway.”

“Haaah?” Jean replied, which had become a common expression for him.  You had refrained from telling him that it made him sound like a braying horse.  He leaned back in his chair so he was balancing on the two back legs, and craned his neck to look at Axel.  “Of course.  Why do you think I aimed for the top 10 at all?”

“Me too.  That’s where I’m headed,” Marco said eagerly, lifting his mug and looking up at the ceiling dreamily.  “An opportunity to work close to the King . . . such an honor!”

“Going all Einstein on us again, Marco?” Jean joked, thumping the back of Marco’s head so enthusiastically that his face landed in his drink.  “Tell ‘em the real reason,” Jean said with a wide grin, leaning in closer.  “Wanna live in the inner walls, don’t you?  We can escape the stinkhole that is the outer town at last!” Jean yelled, thumping his fist on the table.  “In the Inner District, a life of peace and comfort awaits us!”

You narrowed your eyes, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, the other one clenching into a fist under the table.

“Wha . . . .  Hey, man . . . .,” Marco said nervously, swiveling to look at the sneering crowd gathering around them.  His beverage was still dripping off of his chin, making dark splotches on his shirt.  “Sh . . . Show some decency.  I, for one –”

“Ah, my bad,” Jean interrupted mockingly.  “My fault.  Mister honor student.  But what would you guys do?!” he suddenly exclaimed, whipping around and pointing into the crowd.

“Jean,” you drawled in warning, but he either couldn’t hear you or was choosing not to.

“We won’t have an opportunity to live there anytime soon!” Jean continued, standing up out of his chair and lifting his mug.  Marco had his face in his hands, an obvious sign of defeat, and you were shocked.  St. Bodt never backed down when it came to Jean, but it seemed the alcohol was starting to get to him, as his eyes were blinking blearily and he was swaying slightly.  Leave it to the one person that could actually control Jean getting tipsy.  “Still, are you folks staying here for the glory of being ‘humanity’s fortress’ or whatever the name is?”

There was an uneasy silence. 

“Well . . . .  It’s not like we gladly volunteered to be born here in the outskirts . . . and if we could live without having to fear the sound of the Titan’s footsteps . . . .,” a girl spoke up, Rosalinde, you thought.  Her voice was soft, shaking. 

“Thought so . . . .,” Jean said triumphantly, flopping back into his seat.  “Everyone would like to move to the inner quarters. . . .  So, what about you guys?” he asked, nodding his head to Annie and Bertholdt, who were sitting across from him.

 “I’ll apply for the Police, too,” Bertholdt said excitedly.

“So will I . . . .  However . . . .,” Annie spoke up dangerously, her chin resting sullenly in her hand.  “Don’t you imagine you and I are anything alike.”

Jean laughed drunkenly and took another swig from his mug.

“Hey,” came an irritated grumble from behind him, and you turned to see Eren slowly rising from his chair and turning towards your table.

“Oh, no,” you groaned, and tugged on Jean’s sleeve.  “Jean, come on, let’s go.”

He viciously tugged his sleeve from your grip, clearly still irritated about you placing two spots above him.  You had been silent since the ceremony, the guilt eating you up inside.  You had crushed what Jean had aimed for, and hurt his pride to boot.  Usually, you wouldn’t particularly care, but this was a life decision.  You had chosen to go to your death, and he had chosen to go to the Inner Walls, and you had almost jeopardized that.

“You said something about the Inner District being comfortable . . . .,” Eren continued menacingly.  “The part of town we’re in right now used to be part of the Inner District, you know.”  Jean turned to look at him, loathing evident in every line of his face.  “Jean . . . I believe even without moving ‘in’ . . . the contents of your brain would still be comfortable enough.”

Across from Eren, Reiner laughed so hard his drink came shooting out of his nose and straight onto Armin.  You stifled a giggle as Reiner hastily apologized and unsuccessfully tried to clean the drink off of him.

“Eren,” you heard Mikasa say softly, as she grabbed Eren’s elbow.  “Don’t.”

Jean’s eyebrows narrowed.  Mikasa interacting with Eren in any way shape or form had always been his triggering point.  You sighed, knowing it was pointless now.  They were going to fight, and unless you wanted to be on the receiving end of blows from two murderous psychopaths, you were gonna stay out of it.

“Unless I’m mistaken, Eren . . .,” Jean said softly, turning his chair around slowly, “you’re calling me a half-wit?  Well, you’re wrong about that . . . I’m a realist.  The biggest one out there.  Four years ago, we invested half our population into a general offensive . . . half of the entire human race . . . out to recover the territory we’d lost . . . and most of those people earned an instant one-way ticket to the Titans’ stomachs.  How many more would it have taken to reconquer our lost land?  It takes 30 human deaths on average to fell _one_ of them.  But the Titans control this land, and they aren’t content to number a measly 1/30th of the human population.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  For humanity . . . there is no such thing as achieving victory against the Titans. . . .”

You wanted to scream at him.  You wanted to yell at him that he was wrong, that of course there was hope, that there was always hope, that you couldn’t go on living if you were just moving on a conveyor belt toward your death without it _meaning_ anything.  You needed hope, _everyone_ needed hope.  No matter how small it was, no matter how infinitely impossible it seemed, you needed there to be hope. 

There was dead silence across the hall.  It was everyone’s silent acknowledgement that his words rang true, uncomfortably so.  Jean sighed, placing his mug on the table with a thunk that echoed through the quiet hall.

“See . . . now we’ve pulled an all-nighter by your fault,” he groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“What of it?” Eren retorted irritably.

“Haah?  Have you been listening?” Jean snapped, eyes narrowing.

“I did hear something about you giving up because you thought you couldn’t win,” Eren replied, and Jean paused, looking at him curiously.  “Tell me . . . what good is it to throw in the towel?  What good is it to give up all hope and escape from reality? 

“Of course . . . if we go challenging the Titans on the field of material resources, we’re screwed right from the outset.  The number one cause of our defeat four years ago was our ignorance about them.  We did lose, but the information we gained is a definite step in the right direction.  It gave us hope.”  The crowd was staring at him, shocked, their eyes wide.  “And you would give up your responsibility to elaborate a strategy and become Titan food, just like this?  You’re joking, right? I . . . .” He paused, looking uncertain, and you could almost see the memories tangibly flicking through his mind.  “I have a dream . . . a dream where we exterminate the Titans . . . leave the confines of these Walls . . . to explore the outside world.” 

You smiled.  This Jaeger kid sure was something after all.  Everyone was staring at him, eyes wide with shock, with sudden hope.  You had never heard anyone give such an inspiring speech before, and it filled you with a sense of optimism.  Humanity _could_ win. 

Jean gave a short bark of laughter.  “If only you could hear yourself! And you call me a half-wit?!” he laughed. 

“Say what?!” Eren snapped. 

“Look around!  Not a single soul is approving you on this!” Jean crowed, gesturing widely with his arm.  It was true.  Everyone’s eyes were still focused on their food, no one had spoken up, and yet their eyes were wide, cautiously hopeful. 

Eren looked around uneasily, his brows furrowing.  “Yeah . . . I see . . . alright, I get it . . . .,” he sighed, raising his hands in what seemed to be defeat.  But the next moment he was right in Jean’s face, their foreheads almost touching.  “Just go to the Inner District already, then . . . having a defeatist like you here on the front lines would only hurt everyone’s morale.”

“Oh, I do intend to go, but what about you?” Jean snarled.  “You do plan on going outside the walls, right?  Go for it, then.  Your beloved Titans are waiting for you.”

There was silence as the two boys stared each other down.  “Jean,” you snapped, but he ignored you. 

“Oh, fuck it,” Eren growled, and Jean grinned wolfishly.

They each sent a wild haymaker to the other’s jaw, and there was a raucous cheer from the crowd. 

“Here we go again!” Reiner shouted gleefully, banging his mug on the table and sloshing alcohol everywhere.

“Yo!  Eren!  What’s the matter?!  If you’re having trouble against a human like me . . .,” Jean crowed as he sent a vicious punch that Eren blocked with his forearm, “the Titans won’t even notice when they squash you!” 

Eren brutally kneed Jean in the ribs, yelling, “You got that right!”

Jean, furious now, sent a desperate punch, which Eren easily dived under, and sent a left hook to his stomach.  Jean recoiled violently, his arms wrapped around his middle.

“Hey . . .,” Marco called weakly.

“Hello!  That’s enough, knock it off!” Reiner called exasperatedly.  “Jean, have you forgotten?  Going by his score, Eren is the best among us trainees . . . when it comes to hand to hand combat!”

Jean threw a violent left hook in retaliation, which Eren dodged, sliding backwards on the floor.  The crowd was cheering wildly as Eren lunged forward, preparing for the final strike.  Jean lunged as well, and you and Mikasa locked eyes from your separate tables, each of you nodding silently. 

As the two boys were about to meet, you and Mikasa swept underneath your respective charges, and lifted them over your shoulders as if they weighed no more than feathers. 

“Hey! [First!]” Jean yelled furiously, trying to get down, but he was upside down, and your arms were steadfast around his legs. 

“Shut up, idiot,” you snarled.  “That’s enough.”

"Or . . . was it those two . . .?" Reiner mused into his beer mug as you carted your drunken horse away.  

The dining hall erupted in laughter as you and Mikasa strode to opposite ends of the room, and out into the cool night air on either end of it. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Jean snapped as you furiously dumped him on the ground.  “I could handle it.”

“You’re _drunk,_ Jean,” you said viciously, sharply kicking his chest so that he landed with a thud on the ground again.

“What of it?” he wheezed, glaring at you as he tried to get air back in his lungs.

“ _Everything_ of it!” you snapped, your voice shaking.  “You’re even more of an asshole when you’re inebriated, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said stubbornly, sitting up and rubbing the spot where you had kicked him. 

“How’re you ever gonna live in the real world if I have to keep saving your ass all the time?” you retorted sharply, flopping onto the ground next to him. 

“Shut up,” he snarled.  “I don’t need you.”

“Good!” you snapped, but something twanged in your rib cage, and you crossed your arms.  “You shouldn’t!  So just sober up, will you?  I’ve had to deal with too many drunk men in my life and it’s really starting to piss me off!”

He yawned then, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny?” he growled, and more laughter bubbled inside of you.

“You look more like a goddamn horse when you yawn than you already do, Horseface,” you choked out, clutching your sides to keep from laughing.

“Heeeey,” he slurred, swaying dangerously, and you gripped his shoulder tightly. 

“You feelin’ alright, Kirschtein?” you asked nervously, and he shook his head limply in response.  “Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath as you hauled him up and draped his arm over your shoulders.  “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Not tired,” he mumbled, his feet dragging in the dirt. 

“Yeah, you are, dumbass,” you snorted.  “You’re a knock-out drunk.”

“Don’t knock on me.”

“No, dumbass, you drink, rage for a bit, and then suddenly pass out.  Knock-out drunk.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, and you laughed. 

"Hey," you whispered as the two of you shuffled back to his barracks.  "I'm sorry . . . that I placed so high above you."

"Hah?" he asked, glancing at you incredulously.  "Why are you sorry?"

"Because . . . well, you want to go into the Police, and I . . . ."  A lump formed in your throat, and you couldn't tell him.  You couldn't tell him that you were leaving him, that you would most likely be dead within the next year or so.  

"Doesn't matter," he grumbled.  "You're better than me.  That's that.  You shouldn't be sorry for being good, dumbass."

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as the barracks came into view.  Due to Jean being totally fucking wasted, you had to cart him inside, throw him into bed, and tuck him in, the stupid bastard.  

“Hey,” he breathed as you were about to leave, your silhouette dark against the moonlight.

“Yeah?” you whispered, walking back over to his bed, silent as a breath of wind.

“Do you . . . need _me?_ ” he asked, his words almost unintelligible through his drunken slurring. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you sat next to him.  “Yeah, I do.  You’re all I’ve got, Horseface.”

He only hummed, and you knew he wouldn’t remember this in the morning.  Loud, chainsaw snores started to erupt from between his lips, and you smiled.  Your heart was beating double time in your chest as you lightly brushed the wisps of copper-blond hair from his forehead.  Well, he wasn’t going to remember any of this anyway right?

You leaned over, softly, carefully, [h/c] hair flashing in the moonlight, and pressed your lips to his forehead.  He mumbled in his sleep and smiled, and you wondered if he was dreaming of Mikasa.  He probably was, the giant pervert.

With a soft sigh, you quietly rose, and strode out the door.  You stood outside, looking up at the full moon resting in a cradle of stars, and you laughed to yourself.

You really did need that bastard.  You needed him more than anything else in your entire life. 

You stood there for a few more minutes, staring up at the moon, then silently walked off.

Ice blue eyes watched you from around a corner, and quickly flicked away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize some people may disagree with me on the choice of the rankings, but it took me for freaking ever to figure out. i decided that i'd place reader above both jean and eren, since i'm kinda biased in my opinion that eren isn't actually that skilled, and therefore shouldn't have gotten number 5. and i put jean below eren, even though he has more skill, because i feel that's important in his character development  
> idk maybe i'm crazy
> 
> as always, if you have any prompts, questions, etc, send them to my tumblr: jean--biscuit


	8. A Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! I was taking finals all last week, and, well, you know.

If you were asked to describe just why you fell in love with Jean Kirschtein, you weren’t quite able to say.  Later on, when you had listened to Hanji rattle on about this and that more than a few times, you would try to explain it as the atoms of his being attracting yours, a basic gravitational principle that somehow affected you in some undiscovered way.  The star-particles of his body (for, you had been told, every part of everyone, every element and atom, was once part of some long-dead, long-forgotten star) were desperately trying to merge with yours, it seemed.  Maybe the two of you, long, long ago, were once part of the same star, a single existence, an entity, and now, the pieces were just trying to find their way back to each other.

At least, you liked to think so. 

And as you walked beside him down the main drag of Trost on the last day of trainee duty, you felt everything in you buzzing, tugging your body toward his.  It was like you were alive with a thousand tiny electrical pulses, popping in and out of existence, slithering their way through your veins and finding a home in the warm feeling in your gut and in the fluttering inside your chest.

And you could no longer say that you were being a stupid teenage girl, because you were now 18, an adult, a soldier.

And the only way you responded to such feelings was with, of course, anger and violence.

“You excited to get out of here, Kirschtein?” you asked playfully, roughly checking his shoulder with yours.

“Of fucking course,” he scoffed in reply, shoving you with equal force. 

You laughed, falling back into step behind him, your hands clasped behind your back. 

“Imagine,” you sighed, staring up at the sky, watching the wispy clouds race across it, “tomorrow, we’ll be. . . .”  You trailed off hesitantly, hoping he didn’t hear the ‘ _apart’_ hovering ominously on your tongue. 

“In the Inner Wall,” he finished for you, shooting you a lopsided grin, and your stomach turned to ice. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to lie; you just nodded and managed a small grimace that you hoped passed off as a smile.

How in the hell were you going to tell him?

“Just don’t break anything,” he continued, a playful edge in his tone that he often reserved just for you.  “Or else they’ll never let you into the Police.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted, as the two of you neared the elevators that would take you up the Wall for your last duty as trainees, cleaning and doing maintenance checks on the cannons.  “If anyone breaks anything, it’ll be you.”

* * *

 

Before that day, you hadn’t been sure cannons even _could_ be broken.

But of course, Jean Kirschtein found a way.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jean, put it back!”

“I can’t!” he hissed, slamming the metal piece back into where it was supposed to go, but only being met with more pieces of the fucking thing shattering.

“Jesus!  Move!” you growled, shoving him aside and taking the metal part from his hands.  “This requires a woman’s touch.”

“Yeah, like you got that,” he snorted, which resulted in the nearest wrench hitting him square between the eyes.

“FUCK!” he cried as he writhed on the ground, clutching his forehead.

“Shut it!” you ordered, trying to finagle the metal back into place.  “I didn’t hit you that hard!”

“Uhhh, you guys better get that back, quick, before somebody notices,” Christa piped up in her almost annoyingly high voice, her blue eyes wide with worry.

“We’re trying,” you groaned back, turning the metal piece this way and that, but Horseface had broken off too many pieces for it to fit properly.  “Dammit, Kirschtein!  You just fucked everything up!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the metal these cannons are made out of is so fuckin’ brittle!  They should make it stronger!” he retorted, sitting cross-legged on the ground, still rubbing his forehead.

“With what?” you snapped, throwing the piece on the ground in frustration.  “All the minerals we used to strengthen shit were in the confines of Wall Maria, dumbass.  I’ll just see if I can make it as unnoticeable as possible.”

With the help of some questionable adhesive you swindled from the next group over, you managed to fit the piece back so someone wouldn’t notice if they were standing about ten feet away.  Any closer, however, and it was blatantly obvious that it was a jerry rig, and that the piece, which you didn’t even know what the fuck it was, was clearly broken.  You groaned, and ran your fingers through your hair.  You hoped the officials didn’t feel like close-up inspections today.

“It looks . . . good,” Christa said unconvincingly, and you had to resist the urge to yell at her.

“I would’ve had _you_ fix it, Horseface, except I’m positive you would’ve just broken it further,” you instead snapped at Jean, who was standing now, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he cleaned out the muzzle of the next cannon over. 

“I would not’ve!” he protested hotly, whipping around to face you, brandishing the giant Q-tip cleaning brush like a weapon. 

“Would so’ve,” you retorted irritably, rising to your feet as well.

“What do you know?!” he snapped.

“More than you!”

“You wanna fuckin’ bet?” he growled dangerously, stepping almost uncomfortably close to you, his hot breath fanning over your face.  You shuddered.

“Hell yeah I do,” you replied with a shit eating grin, and grabbed his collar, to kiss him or strangle him, you didn’t know which, when everything went to shit.

It felt as if the entire world was toppling over.  A crack of lightning split the sky, a ways down the wall from you, right where Eren’s group was stationed.  A great blast of steam issued forth, and you saw faint black people specks topple off of the wall and towards the ground.

You dropped Jean like a hot potato and screamed, what, you didn’t remember.  Everyone around you sprang into action remarkably fast, sprinting their way along the wall, drawing their blades from their sheaths. 

And then, the smoke started to clear, and your heart just about stopped. 

It was a giant head.  Leering over the wall, skinless face stretched in a perpetual grin, hands gripping over the top of it, crushing through the stone like it was paper.  You saw Eren’s group frantically trying not to fall to their deaths, and everything in you slowed down.  You were still standing, next to Jean, who was likewise frozen.

It was happening.

For the third time.

And suddenly another tremor shook the Wall, worse than the one before, and your arms flew up to cover your face.  You peeked above them, and a strangled noise escaped from the back of your throat.

There was a hole in the Wall.

There was a hole in Wall Rose.

“Jean –,” you choked, clutching his sleeve, knuckles white. 

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth, as you heard screams of dismay and terror rise up around you.  “Let’s go.”

Pushing everything down inside of you, just like you had been trained, you drew your blades from their sheaths and raced down the wall toward the commotion, eyes transfixed on that giant, skinless head.  This time, humanity was ready.  The 104th trainees’ corps would take it down this time, you knew.  That thing was so large, there was no way it would be going anywhere far anytime soon.  It filled you with a sense of excitement.  This thing was humanity’s enemy, and your squad would have the honor of taking it down. 

And as you were sprinting forward, Jean at your side, you saw the giant bastard raise his arm, and swing it down toward the Wall.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” you bellowed as the Colossal Titan swept its entire arm across the top of the Wall, effectively taking out all of the cannons within a six hundred feet radius. 

And that was when it hit you.

The fucking thing was _intelligent._ It had aimed for the gate of the Wall, just as it had five years ago, and had quickly taken out any method of slowing it down.  You just prayed that that suicidal idiot wasn’t taking that thing on as you thought about it.

But, knowing Eren, he probably was.

But then as soon as it had begun, it was over.

Another giant cloud of steam hissed forth, seemingly from the Colossal Titan, you heard a scream rip through the air, the cloud of steam dissipated, and it was gone.

A stream of extremely colorful expletives flew from your mouth as you and Jean skidded to a halt on what remained of the top of the Wall.  You were too late.  The Wall had a giant gaping hole in it, there was nothing you could do, nothing anyone could do, and it would all happen again, all the death, all the destruction, the bodies, the screams, the blood the blood the blood –

“What are you trainees doing here?!” a Garrison soldier barked as he flew up to land beside the group that was rapidly assembling.  “The Special Colossal Titan Strategy has already started!  Resume your positions at once!  And whoever made physical contact with that thing, report to the Headquarters now!”

There was a bark of affirmation, a hasty salute, and you jumped off of the Wall.

The wind whipped through your hair, tugging your body every which way, and tears sprang to your eyes.  Your stomach flew up into your throat, and you could sense the rough stone of the Wall mere inches behind your back.  You released your hooks at the last moment, swinging around a clock tower in a much wider turn than was probably wise. 

You landed heavily on the ground, rolling to break your fall and sprinting towards Headquarters.  Your gear was banging painfully on your thigh, and your breath was coming in short, labored gasps. 

It had been years since you had seen a Titan, and you weren’t exactly jumping to relive the experience.  God, were you scared.  You were so scared that the only emotion you could replace it with as you sprinted along was cold, hard determination.  The alarm bells rang painfully loud in your ears, sending vibrations up through the soles of your boots.  You pushed your way through rushing and panicking soldiers and civilians alike, your limbs starting to shake, your movements growing more erratic.

You burst into the wide courtyard of Headquarters, to see everyone rushing around, a look of absolute terror contorting their brows, with a man standing in the middle, shouting orders.

“Unfortunately, the Scouting Legion, which counts our most seasoned combatants among its members, is all out on exploration duty!  We Stationary Troops are the only ones currently repairing the Walls and preparing for ambush!” the man barked, and with a small spark of annoyance you wondered why he wasn’t making himself more useful somewhere else.  “You trainees!  You passed the qualification test!  That makes you full-fledged soldiers!  I’m holding high hopes about your performance here!”

“Don’t remind me,” you grumbled as you muscled your way through to the gas tanks, your hands shaking terribly as you connected the hoses.  The officials were already calling for all present soldiers to get into formation to receive orders, and you cursed.

You had a small wish, a childish wish, that you could run away, go hide somewhere in a dark corner, shut your eyes, and pretend this wasn’t happening.  You desperately wished you could make it all go away, that when you opened your eyes again, you would be in your bunk at the trainee camp. 

But regrettably, it was never so, it never could be so. 

You rushed over to where the soldiers were gathering into lines, trying to reattach your gas tanks with fumbling fingers.  As you took your place next to two Garrison Soldiers, your eyes searched the crowd for your comrades.  You could see the top of Jean’s copper-blond head near the front of the crowd, Marco’s signature ruler-straight parted black hair a row or two in front of you, Ymir and Christa standing together down your row, and Sasha two men down to your left. 

“The drill’s the same as during training.  You guys split up.  To each team its passage.  Abide by the Stationary Troops’ instructions,” an official you had never seen before spoke at the front of the crowd, his voice unnaturally calm.  “Your tasks will be to assist with supplying, transmitting information, and keeping the place clean of Titans.  The Front Guard will be assigned to the Stationary Troops.  The Middle Guard will work for the Training Corps under our command.  And the Rear Guard will serve under the Stationary Troops’ elite squads. . . .  Time for us freeloaders to earn our keep.  We shall protect Wall Rose with our lives . . . and this until every last citizen has escaped to safety.  Furthermore . . . as you’re already aware, fleeing in front of the enemy will be met with capital punishment.  You are sacrificing your lives.  Make sure they count.  DISMISSED!”

“SIR!” you managed, hoping your voice crack didn’t stick out amid the myriad of shouts. 

You would have to fight.  You would have to risk your life for humanity, like you had been trained to do these last three years.  Jesus, what had you signed yourself up for?

You heard an agonized shout from the front of the crowd, a painfully familiar shout, and you pushed your way through the disbanding crowd to see Jean crouched on the ground, his hand pressed to his face.

“Why today . . .?!” he was groaning, his voice trembling.  “I would have been gone to the Inner District by tomorrow!”

You were about to go over and remind him not to be so fucking selfish when a horrible, gurgling, retching noise bubbled to his right, and you whipped around to see a trainee whose name you did not now violently heaving into the dirt.  Christa quickly rushed over to him, rubbing his back and asking him if he was okay.

You watched with a strange fascination, your palms slick with sweat.  You could feel the fear and terror in the air, pressing down onto your windpipe and against your temples with so much force you wanted to drop to your knees and scream.  Other people were screaming, of course. You could hear Eren’s furious voice a little ways off, most likely yelling at poor Mikasa, Dazz bawling in a corner of the field, and Sasha muttering to herself a few feet away from you, sitting on the ground, knees drawn to her chest. 

So this was what war was like.

* * *

 

You were assigned to the same squad as Jean, of fucking course.  He was the one person you didn’t want around you in a crisis, it was entirely possible he would push your nerves accidentally and you would wind up getting someone, or yourself, killed.

Your squad was placed in the Middle Guard, and you were assigned to stand watch on the rooftops and wait for further instructions.  Your twitching fingers sought out your ring as you stood there, trembling, and began to twist it vigorously.  It had become a nasty habit, and more often than not ended up in a large, painful laceration around your finger that always stubbornly refused to heal.  As your fingers deftly spun the ring around and around and around, you searched the deepest nooks of your brain for every single piece of information about the Titans you had been taught, so you would be prepared, so you would be ready –

Remember remember _remember_ –

_“. . . whatever we learn of the Titan’s habitat we owe to the Scouting Legion’s latest reports,” the instructor intoned curtly, his spectacles dangling dangerously on his nose, a textbook held loosely in his fingers.  “We are unable to confirm whether they have human levels of intelligence.  Therefore, examples of mutual understandings between us and them are pretty much unheard of.”  You sat there, slouched in your seat, arms crossed in front of you, your lips pressed into a thin line, the notebook you were supposed to be taking notes in decidedly empty.  You had never been one for schooling.  “They are fundamentally different from other creatures in bodily makeup . . . they lack sexual organs.  We know nothing of their mode of reproduction.  The vast majority of them have a male-like physical makeup.  Their bodily temperature is extremely high, and for some obscure reason they don’t show the slightest interest in any creatures other than human beings.  The Titan’s reason for existence is to devour humans . . . but considering that initially, they had to live in an environment devoid of human life for 100 years . . . I posit that they have no inherent need to nourish themselves.  In other words . . . that they’re not hunting us for food.  What they do want is the slaughter. . . .”_

_A visible shudder passed through the room, and you stiffened in your seat, your heartbeat quickening.  The damn things didn’t eat because they were hungry?  They just ate . . . because they_ enjoyed _it?_

_The instructor was silent for a minute, and then lowered his eyes to his book, his spectacles slipping dangerously low, continuing, “And . . . the foremost reason why humanity has been driven into the corner it finds itself in right now. . . is the uncanny vitality possessed by the Titans.  Back in the day, humankind was powerful enough to blow their heads off.  But that wasn’t enough to stand our ground.  It varied from individual to individual, but half of the time, the heads would grow back as good as new.”_

_This time, instead of a visible shudder, there were shocked gasps and hitched breathing, and muttering soon broke out.  You slowly placed your hands on the table, your fingernails digging into the wood.  It felt like someone had just dropped a block of ice into your stomach, and the cold was slowly inching its way through your veins.  Was there really no way to kill them?  Was everything . . . everything that humanity had done for nothing?_

_“Instructor!” Marco called, lurching up out of his seat, terror evident on his face.  “Does that mean . . . the Titans are immortal?!”_

_“They aren’t immortal . . . ,” the instructor responded, turning around to scribble on the blackboard.  You visibly relaxed, your hands sliding off of the table to rest in your lap.  You tried to steady your breathing, breathe in, out, in, out –_

_“There’s only one way to bring them down.  That is, to strike here!” the instructor barked, stabbing his piece of chalk to the back of the neck of the humanoid head he had drawn.  “This section, at the nape of the neck.  The Titans can’t regenerate when they’re dealt extensive damage in that area.  They die.  And to achieve this, ladies and gentlemen, you have to resort to this.”  He dragged something out from under his desk and threw it on the table.  “Currently, the best tactic to repel the enemy is to rely on a close combat technique that allows great mobility.  This equipment is operated with a handgrip for each hand . . . the shooting mechanism situated on both sides of the waist propels an anchor.  The iron wire fired out of the tube is rewinded thanks to the gas’ pressure.  This plug-in blade is your weapon.”  The instructor lifted something from the pile of things, a long, twisted piece of metal, which he bent almost into a U shape with one finger.  “In order to bite into the large masses of hardened meat . . . it has been completely twisted around itself.  With a couple of those, you can slice off the flesh.  Hit the Titan’s vital spots this way and you’ll swiftly kill them off, well before their regeneration process can kick in.”_

_‘Nape of the neck nape of the neck nape of the neck,’ you repeated to yourself, silently, almost like a prayer, your hands bunching up the fabric of your pants, your whole body trembling.  ‘Nape of the neck nape of the neck nape of the neck. . . ._

“Nape of the neck nape of the neck nape of the neck . . . .,” you muttered to yourself, eyes fixed to the ground, trying to ignore the sounds of cannons firing atop the wall, your ring spinning around your finger at lightning speed.

“The hell are you muttering?” you heard a voice grumble next to you, and your gaze darted over to see Jean, one hand over his face, fingers digging into his scalp.  He was visibly shaking, and he looked green. 

“Nothing,” you mumbled back, your fingers leaving your ring, and you wished you had pockets to stuff your hands into.  You tried not to think about the vanguard, about the giant footsteps you could feel shaking the roof tiles beneath your feet, about the Titans that were headed straight for you.  “It’s nothing.  You must be hearing things.”

You could already smell the blood in the air.

You heard the order for your squad to move out, and on pure instinct, you shot your hooks out and flew off of the rooftop.

And that was when you saw them.

They were coming closer and closer, three of them, all smiling widely, hands reaching out towards you, almost as if they were beckoning.  That was when hot anger boiled within you.  You clutched your blade holders tightly, the riveted metal digging into your palm.  You pressed the gas levers down, your anger leveling out into cool, almost Mikasa-esque rage, and you swung.

All your years of fighting in the streets proved to be extremely beneficial, as it took nothing more than a single cut to fell one, then two, and then with Jean’s help, the third.  You could smell their foul blood in the air, the vapor from their dissolving bodies coiling upwards and making you want to retch.

You couldn’t think about that time.  Not now.  You had a duty as a soldier; you had to fight so humanity didn’t lose another wall.  You pushed aside all of your fear, all of your panic, all of your memories. 

And you fought.

You were never able to very clearly recall what happened between your first and last kills.  All you remember was screams, endless screaming, the smell of both human and Titan blood in your nostrils, because really, they smelled so similar, the wide, leering jaws lunging for you, giant hands reaching, your blades slicing through neck after neck after neck.

And then you heard your gas tank sputter.  Panic jolted through you, and you made sure to finish off the last Titan in your immediate vicinity in a last burst of speed, before landing heavily on the nearest rooftop, breaking off at least two feet’s worth of roofing tile in the process.

“[First!]” you heard Jean yell from above you, and you turned to see him skid onto the rooftop next to you.  “What’s wrong?!”

“Gas,” you said emotionlessly, rapping the tank with your knuckles, and you could hear the hollow ring.

“Shit,” Jean spat, running his hand through his hair and turning to see the remnants of their squad joining them.  “I’m out, too.  Running on fumes.”

The others nodded, looking desperately at their blade holders, rattling the tanks on their backs.

You heard the clanging of the withdrawal bell, far away, and you looked up, hope fluttering cautiously in your chest.  You scanned the myriad of houses, looking for the tall spires of HQ.  You found it, and everything in you drew up and froze, panic rising in your chest like a wave, your small smile of relief still affixed to your face.

The whole fucking thing was surrounded by Titans.

“Damn it!” you cried, stomping your foot so hard into the roof that you heard timbers crack.  Everything suddenly welled up in you in that instant, and you felt as if you were going to disintegrate, like you were going to implode.  You were choking, you couldn’t breathe, and you wanted to lie down and curl up into a ball and stay there forever.  “What do we do?!”

“We do nothing . . . . ,” Jean mumbled, collapsing onto the roof.  He was shaking.  “They’ve rung the withdrawal signal at last . . . yet here we are, out of gas and unable to climb the wall. . . .  Now we’re all gonna die, we are.  All of us . . . because of those filthy cowards.”  You heard the hopelessness, the bitterness in his tone, and you fought to keep your morale from sinking lower, to keep from throwing yourself off of the roof.  “They’ve lost the will to fight?  That I can understand, but still . . . calling off the supplying mission, effectively hanging us out to dry so they could barricade themselves at the HQ?  That’s just wrong. . . .  And of course, the Titans come swarming in, and we can’t even go replenish our stocks of gas. . . .”

You sighed, leaning on the chimney of the roof next to Armin, who still had his head in his hands.

Connie had picked up the poor kid on a rooftop a ways back, sitting there completely catatonic.  From what Connie was able to gather, Armin’s whole squad was dead.

Eren, Tomas, Mina, Milius, Nac . . . gone.

Like they had never even existed in the first place. 

It had hit you like a sledgehammer to the chest, Eren’s death especially.  Geez, all that big talk, and the kid couldn’t survive more than a few minutes on the battlefield.  It was almost laughable, to be honest.  All that yelling about eradicating the Titans, and he ended up the one eradicated.  But you remembered the way his eyes had shone, the way he had lifted the long-dead hope in your chest, the way he had made it seem like there was something to fight for. 

You would miss the suicidal bastard, to be sure.

“Precisely!” Connie yelled, and you looked up to see him trying to look confident, his fist raised, a wavering smile flickering across his face like ripples in a pond.  “We have no choice but to fight tooth and nail against the tide, and kill those Titans as they come!  If we stand around here doing nothing, we’ll be in the exact same situation anyway!  The Titans will congregate here, too!  If we keep scurrying about like mice trying to escape, we’ll only end up squandering what precious little gas we have left!  And once we completely lose our mobility, it’s over!”

“You’re using your head for a change, Connie.  However . . .,” Jean said flatly, his gaze dark, “do you really think we can make a difference given our current manpower?  Most of the upperclassmen from the Front Guard have been slaughtered . . . we trainees are all that’s left, so who’s gonna take charge of this suicide mission, exactly?  Oh, well . . .,” he sighed, his shoulders sinking even lower, his voice shaking.  “Even if we do find a leader, there’s not much we can do about those Titans anyway. . . .  I’m betting the three to four meter classes have infested the supplies room already.  And there’s no way we can properly operate in those conditions, naturally.”

“I guess it’s no use?” Connie said hollowly, his voice cracking.  Jean sighed again.

“What sucky lives we’ve had,” he mumbled, his voice choked.  “We might as well go for it, then . . . or so I should say. . . .”

“Let’s do it!” Sasha cried, bounding up from where she was sitting.  “Come on, everybody!  Up!  Surely we can succeed, if we pool our resources together!  It’s alright, I’ll take point.”  She looked around at everyone, but no one moved.  “G-Guys. . . .,” she faltered, her façade dropping, and you had to suppress the urge to scream.  “Armin,” she said, trying to fake cheerfulness, bending down to his level.  “Help me convince everyone. . . .”

But Armin’s gaze was still cast down, his eyes dead, empty. 

Suddenly, with a loud clatter, Mikasa landed on the rooftop. 

“Mikasa?!” Sasha cried, jumping back in shock.  “Aren’t you supposed to be with the Rear Guard . . .?!”

“Annie!” Mikasa barked, ignoring her, striding toward the short blonde.  “I more or less worked out what was going on somehow . . . and while we’re at it . . . sorry for letting my personal matters interfere, but . . . have you seen Eren’s team at all . . .?”

You violently pushed away from the chimney where Armin was collapsed, your stomach revolting.  You collapsed down next to Jean, your arms wrapped around yourself, trembling, but he took no notice of you.  He was too fixated on Mikasa, who was kneeling down in front of Armin, who you could hear starting to sob.  You hugged yourself tighter, wishing with all your might that Armin would lie, would say that Eren had gone ahead up the Wall, that he was alive, because you were not sure you could handle the strongest person you knew breaking down in front of you. 

God, if there was ever a time you needed Horseface to distract you, this was it. 

And then you heard Armin pronounce it, officially.

You actually felt everything and everyone around you crack, and it occurred to you in that moment that you had been the only one Connie had told. 

Jean drew in a sharp breath, and you heard Sasha breathe, “No way. . . .”

You heard Armin blubber out an apology, his sobs loud and wracked with pain.  And then you heard Mikasa’s voice, ringing through the air, clear and sharp.

“Calm down.  This is neither the time nor the place to be emotional.  Come on, stand!”  She pulled Armin to his feet and strode away, towards Marco.  “Marco.  If we eliminate the Titans swarming the HQ, everyone can replenish their gas reserves and climb back up the Wall.  Is that correct?”

“Uh . . . yeah. That’s it,” Marco responded nervously.  “But even with you around . . . there are so many of them. . . .”

“We can do this,” Mikasa said, but you could sense everything crumbling inside of her behind the steel in her voice.  She raised her blade then, extending it high into the air, and everyone turned to look at her.  “I am strong . . .,” she intoned, her eyes trained on the ground, “extraordinarily so . . . much more than you guys!  Therefore . . . I am perfectly capable of kicking those Titan scumbags’ collective asses . . . including on my own, if I have to.”  She paused, looking up, her eyes sweeping over the crowds.  You had never heard her speak so many words at one time before.  “Are you all such a bunch of incompetents?” she challenged, scorn edging her voice.  “You gutless, spineless cowards . . . for shame . . . for shame, indeed.  You just stay there and watch in helpless envy . . . yeah, you do that.”

“Hey, Mikasa?” a girl cried.  “What are you talking about?!

“Are you planning to take on that many Titans all by yourself?  That’s just impossible. . . .,” Marco added.

“If it is, then I’ll die. . . . It’s just that simple,” Mikasa replied, sheathing her blade and turning away.  “But if I win . . . I get to live. . . .  You don’t stand a single chance to win . . . unless you fight. . . .”

And with that, she leapt off of the roof and sped away, a large cloud of vapor following her.  You shook your head, chuckling softly, and rose to your feet.  You guessed Mikasa had gotten her inspirational speech skills from Eren somewhere along the line, because now that your very moral integrity as a solider was challenged, you simply couldn’t back down. 

“If there’s one thing to deplore here, it’s your oratory skills,” Jean scoffed, standing up as well.  “Those harsh words were meant to shock us into action. . . .  Eren . . . this is all your fault.  HEY!” he bellowed, leaping off of the rooftop after her.  “I DON’T BELIEVE LEAVING A COMRADE TO FIGHT ALL ON HER OWN WAS EVER PART OF OUR FORMATION?!  COME ON, FOLKS!  OR WE’RE GONNA TURN OUT TO BE SPINELESS COWARDS, ALRIGHT!”

You scowled irritably.  Only Mikasa could get him motivated of course.  You leapt after him, fighting to keep your fingers from punching your gas levers.  With a resounding roar, the rest of the group on the rooftop launched themselves into the air, yelling in defiance, a wild, angry cry that echoed around the empty city. 

You instinctually took your place on Jean’s right as he flew along, following Mikasa as she cut down every Titan in your path. 

“The battle will be quick but decisive!” Jean yelled over his shoulder.  “We need to make it to the headquarters before we run out of gas!”

And then, Mikasa dropped out of the sky like a rock. 

Her gas tank puffed out a few wisps of gas, sputtered, and stopped completely.  She fell through the air, as if in slow motion, wires whistling back to her belt, her black hair fluttering in the wind like the torn banner of a losing army.

“Mikasa!” Jean cried, swiveling to go back for her, but you grabbed him by the collar and wrenched him back around.

“We have to leave her!” you barked, jerking him along roughly.  “You don’t have enough gas to save her and get to HQ!”

“Shut up!” Jean snapped, trying to pull away from your grip, but you held tight.

“Just listen to me for once!” you cried, and your voice cracked.  “We have to get to HQ!  She’ll be okay, she’s Mikasa, for Christ’s sake!”

Jean slowly settled down, and you released his collar, cursing yourself for lying to him.  Because, even with Mikasa being Mikasa, it would take a miracle to get her out of there alive.

And, well, a miracle was what you got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would just like to take a moment to reflect upon how i honestly never thought that so many people would like this fic  
> because uh wow you guys are so kind and i don't deserve it, really
> 
> as you know, if you have prompts/questions/etc, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	9. Rogue Titan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! just wanted to let you know that chapter updates might be a bit scattered from now on, because i'm now on summer break and i often tend to forget what day of the week it is. but not to fear, I will still be updating. For a while. I love Jean too much to abandon this fic, I promise.  
> I would also like to thank you guys for your amazing support and sweet comments, they make me blush so hard you actually have no idea.

All throughout your life, positive thinking was one of the only things that kept you alive.  As stupid and preachy as it sounded, and was, to be honest, the faint hope that you would always pull through got you through parts of your life that later on were too painful to remember. 

You always had hope; just a little tiny spark of it was enough, enough to carry you through the endless grueling days, the endless pain, the suffering.  You had hoped and hoped all through your trainee years, hoped that you would pass the final exams, that you would graduate, that you would survive it all.

And, somewhere along the way, Jean had started to worm his way into your hopes as well.  Among the hopes for survival, for happiness, there were the hopes for Jean, the hope that you would see him again after being placed into your factions, that he would outlive you, that he would remember you.

But as your group came to a grinding halt on a rooftop a few houses down from HQ, it was pretty fucking hard to have any shred of hope.  At least 15 Titans of all shapes and sizes were slowly tearing the building down, brick by brick, window by window.

You landed next to Jean, who had gone stock still, teeth gritted in a frustrated scowl, trembling hands clenched into fists.  You knew in an instant what he was thinking.

It was no use.  You couldn’t even get any closer, unless you were willing to lose half of your team. 

Well, speak of the devil, as they say.

An agonized scream ripped through the air from below you, and you scrambled to the edge of the rooftop, hands on your blades, to see a member of your group, a boy whom you weren’t acquainted with, standing on the ground, one of his hooks lodged in the wall above him.  He was clicking his gas levers furiously, but only a few pathetic puffs sputtered out of his tank.  You could see the realization dawn on him, as a strangled noise escaped his throat and he clicked the gas levers harder, his whole body starting to quiver.

You felt Jean tense beside you, and you whipped your head around to see him ready to jump, blades in hand, beads of sweat trickling down his face. 

And in that moment you realized that you were about to watch someone die.  Slowly, painfully, and you were not able to fly away on your 3dmg and pretend that it wasn’t real.  You stood there transfixed, and the feeling of helplessness that washed over you was so strong you wanted to tear your hair out, curl up into a ball, and scream.

But there was no time for that.  Within seconds, five Titans were closing in.  One of the shorter ones, a four meter class, by the looks of it, picked him up, slowly and methodically, as if it were merely inspecting him.  The boy struggled, the Titan gripped him tighter, and you heard the distinct sound of bones shattering ringing through the air.  He screamed. 

As another Titan, a three meter class, latched onto his legs, two of your comrades jettisoned off of the rooftop, one of them shouting, “Tom!  Let’s go help him!”

“Hold it!” Jean cried, and you could see the fear coursing through him like an electric current.  “It’s too late for that!”

As the four meter class’s mouth was closing on Tom’s head, one of the two, a male, screeched, “STOP RIGHT THERE!” and flew towards the back of the Titan’s neck, blades ready to strike.

He never got there.

A bearded seven meter class snatched him right out of the air, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, and there was a strangled cry as most of the boy’s internal organs were pulverized.

Jean went slack, his hands dropping to his sides.

The second of the two, a girl, was in the grasp of three Titans, all opening their giant maws, inching ever closer.

And you were forced to stand there and watch as three of your comrades were ripped to shreds and devoured right in front of your eyes.  You couldn’t even turn away.  You watched as their blood flew through the air as the Titans viciously ripped them apart, turning the surrounding houses into gruesome pieces of modern art.

And as you turned your head to look up and down the alleyway, you saw similar spots of blood, small patches littered all around you, on rooftops, against houses, on the ground, and it hit you then that each spot of blood was a person once. 

And that one day, you might (who were you kidding, _will_ ) end up as nothing more than a red stain. 

Silence reigned around you, save for the sounds of ripping flesh and the three newly graduated trainees’ dying screams.

Jean, of course, broke it.

“NOW!” he screamed, launching himself off of the rooftop.  “Head straight into HQ now, while the Titans are occupied elsewhere!  It’s a small window of opportunity, let’s take it!”

“You crafty bastard,” you muttered appreciatively as you shot off after him, closely followed by the remnants of your team. 

“Now or never . . .,” you heard Marco gulp from next to you, and you couldn’t help but grimly acknowledge the truth of his words.

“It’s over as soon as you run out of gas anyway!” Jean yelled over his shoulder.  “Everybody charge in!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you grumbled through gritted teeth as you pressed your gas levers down, steeling yourself. 

Titans were already approaching.

Oh, how you wished to cut them down, but you suppressed your rage and swerved around them, between their grasping hands, just out of reach of their gaping mouths.  You did your best to keep your eye on Jean, who was pulling loops and turns that you hadn’t even thought possible, when a giant hand suddenly shot out from between two buildings, right for him, and caught his foot.

You screeched his name, but before you could even devise a plan of action, Jean had sliced off one of the Titan’s fingers, and was off again. 

You were so relieved that you almost fainted on the spot.  A giant sigh escaped from your lips, and you resolved to punch him later for scaring you.

And then, HQ was right there. 

Jean’s gas tank sputtered, and with a wild cry, he covered his face with his arms, and smashed through one of the windows.

You vaulted in after him (sticking the landing perfectly, you might add), and collapsed on the floor. 

You had crashed into some sort of office space, with desks lined up in rows, with some positioned into a square right in front of you, a barricade of sorts, it seemed.

Jean was leaning up against said barricade, panting, his hand covering his face, as the remains of your team crashed into the room.

“How many of us . . . could make it . . .?” Jean panted, his voice fraught with pain, as he surveyed the room, and in that moment he seemed 20 years older.  “I’ve utilized the deaths of our comrades. . . .  How many people . . . died on my signal?”

You stood up on shaky legs, whether to go comfort him or slap him for being a fucking idiot and scaring you, you weren’t sure, when a shuddering gasp emitted from Jean’s left. 

Two people were crouched under the desk, tears streaming down their faces, gazing at your group in wonder.

“Y . . . you . . .,” Jean breathed, pushing himself up onto one knee.  “You’re from the supplying team . . . that’s you, right?!”

“Yeah. . . .,” the boy muttered shakily.

In a burst of speed, Jean seized the boy’s collar, pulled him up to a standing position, and punched him in the face so hard you heard something crack.

“Jean!” you barked, coming up from behind him and encircling your arms under his armpits, securing your hands behind his neck in a Nelson hold. 

“IT’S THEIR DAMN FAULT!  THEY FUCKING HUNG US OUT TO DRY!” Jean bellowed, squirming in your grip, but your holds were almost always inescapable.  “SO MANY PEOPLE DIED POINTLESSLY BY YOUR FAULT, YOU ASSHOLE!”

“Some Titans had made it into the supplies room!” the other person under the desk, a girl, cried as she helped the boy to his feet.  “We couldn’t do anything!”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE WORKED OUT SOMETHING, IT’S PART OF THE JOB DESCRIPTION!” Jean shouted back, jerking violently in your grip.

“Stop it, you idiot!” you snapped, hands still on the back of his neck pressing forward, so his neck was craned downwards at an extremely uncomfortable angle.  Curses streamed from between his lips as he tried in vain to get free, but you silenced him by pressing his head further down.  “I know how you feel, dumbass.  We’re all angry, we’re all pissed, and we’re all tired, okay?!  What the fuck do you think you would have done in their shoes, huh, Horseface?!  You would have turned tail and ran, just like the rest of us!  Our gear isn’t fucking _designed_ for indoor use, idiot!” 

Suddenly a shout rang from the front of the room, Reiner’s voice, “TAKE COVER!”

You let go of Jean in a flurry of limbs, grabbed him by the back of the collar, and wrenched him under a desk.

Something burst through the outside wall with a deafening crash, and as it came to a halt you looked up to see a Titan’s head, torn clean off, mere feet from you.

“What . . .?” you breathed as you let go of Jean and slowly stood up.

And then your blood turned to ice.

Two faces were peering through the hole the head had made, smiling eerily, excitedly, almost.

And you cursed yourself in that moment, because you should have known that the Titans would notice so many people gathered in one place.

A flurry of shouts burst from behind you as everyone in the room fled, running over each other in their haste to get farther inside the building.

“Where’s Mikasa at?!

“Move it!”

“Get inside!”

“Hold it! We can’t get out of here all at once!”

“Mikasa’s run out of gas and got devoured long ago!”

Survival instincts kicked in, and you whipped around, to see Jean standing there, transfixed.

“HORSEFACE!” you bellowed, grabbing him by the elbow and wrenching him backwards.

He fell, his whole body limp, and you cursed, turning around to catch him, blocking all the fear and hopelessness from your brain, because you knew, you knew that this was pointless, that all of you were most likely going to die, and that there was nothing you could do about it. 

The giant fist was a surprise, to be sure.

As you pushed Jean back to his feet, you froze, seeing the two heads seemingly cave in on themselves as the giant fist smashed them to the side, and out of sight. 

You watched in stunned silence as another Titan’s head came into view, this one with flashing green eyes, lanky, wild brown hair, and pointy ears, its lipless mouth gritted in what seemed to be intense rage.

You watched as it didn’t even turn in your direction, and instead unleashed a roar, the single angriest thing you had ever heard in your entire life, that rang through the air and ricocheted off of your eardrums, and for some inexplicable reason, it gave you hope.

“What the . . . .,” Jean breathed from next to you, and your hand tightened on his elbow.  “What was that . . .?”

And then, in a shower of glass, Mikasa, Armin, and Connie burst into the room.

Jean’s eyes widened, and you felt a shudder go through him at the sight of that familiar black head.

“Mikasa?!” he cried, his voice cracking.

“That was close . . .,” Connie said, as he knocked on his gas tanks.  “It’s empty now. . . .  We made it.  It was a close call, but here we are. . . .”

“Y . . . you . . .,” Jean stuttered, a love-struck look of relief on his face that you hoped to god you hadn’t ever adopted, and with a sickening feeling in your stomach you let go of his elbow.  “You’re alive!”

“We did it, Armin!” Connie yelled excitedly, and with a smug feeling you noticed Mikasa totally ignoring Jean’s cry.  “Your strategy worked out just fine!  Hey, guys!” he yelled, as he pointed to the long haired Titan outside.  “This Titan is a weird specimen that enjoys killing its own kind like it’s going out of style!  And it’s shown no interest in us, at that!  Mikasa and I dispatched the Titans around it!  We’ve been able to lead it to the swarm here!  If we make good use of it, we can escape this place without problems!”

“Using one of those Titans?!” one of your teammates cried, and something fluttered in your stomach, hope, worry, or fear, you couldn’t say.

“Relying on a Titan for help . . .?” Jean asked, skepticism plain in his voice.  “That wouldn’t sound out of place inside a dream. . . .”

“We aren’t dreaming,” Mikasa said, her voice ringing throughout the room.  “I don’t care if it’s an eccentric or whatever.  We’ll have this Titan carry on its little rampage here a little while longer . . . realistically speaking . . . this plan is by far the best one we have if we wish to survive.”

And, sure enough, as you watched, the Rogue Titan attacked the other Titans with a fervor you hadn’t seen since Eren’s days in the trainee camp, latching its arm under one of the Titan’s and hurling it toward two smaller Titans, who were pulverized instantly.  Two other Titans began to advance on it, and with a mighty roar, it attacked again.

* * *

The roars and giant footsteps rang through the building as you dug in the supply room next to Jean, as per Armin’s instructions.  He had ordered a team to go into the supply rooms and bring back as many rifles as you could find, and another to bring up the elevator from the supply room.  He hadn’t explained the whole plan just yet, but from what you remembered from your trainee days, whatever plan Armin was cooking up, with that big brain of his, there was a pretty good chance of it working. 

You hoisted a crate of rifles into your arms and followed Jean as he kicked open the door into the main room, shouting, “There!  We’ve found the material under the police’s control.  There’s dust just about everywhere, though. . . .”

Armin and Mikasa were crouched over plans of the building they had dug out from one of the desks, muttering and drawing lines from place to place with their fingers.

You dug out three rifles and packs of gunpowder from your crate and tossed two of them to Jean and Marco, who had joined Armin and Mikasa around the map.  You sat between them, all three of you working on loading the rifles. 

“Can we really fire bullets with these guns . . .?” Jean muttered as he pumped gunpowder into the barrel.  “Are guns even all that useful. . . .  Do they make any difference against the Titans in the first place . . . ?” he directed to Armin, who was sitting across from him. 

Mikasa looked to Armin for an answer, and he glanced down nervously. 

“Better with them than without, I say,” he said, his voice quivering slightly.  “The supplies room still has seven three to four meter classes occupying it.  With the firepower at our disposal we might even be able to blindside them all at once. 

“First . . . use the lift to lower several people down the central rooftop.  If those seven Titans are anything ‘normal,’ that should draw them in.  They do react strongly to human concentrations, after all.

“Next, the people in the lift will fire at their heads simultaneously . . . to rob them of eyesight. 

“Then . . . the following moments will be decisive . . . seven people will have to remain on ceiling beams.  They will jump in and cut into the Titan’s vitals during the gunfire . . . which is to say . . . this strategy relies on us giving it our all in this one offensive.  Everybody’s lives will be hanging in the balance.  This is a plan to allow seven people to put down one Titan each simultaneously.”  You gulped.  Armin glanced from Mikasa, to Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, you, Jean, Sasha, and back.  “The ones who’ll have to do it are those of us with the highest success rate when it comes to mobility.  I apologize for dumping the responsibility of everyone’s survival on your shoulders . . . sorry.”

“No problem,” Reiner said with a reassuring grin.

“Whoever does it, the risk is the same in case of failure: everyone dies . . .,” Annie intoned flatly, and you silently wondered why she always had to be so grim.

“But . . . is my plan really our best option?  I mean . . . after all, it’s just me!” Armin said shakily, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“It’ll have to do,” Marco said, crouching down next to him.  “We’re running out of time. . . .  There’s no more time to come up with another plan.  We’ll give this one our best shot.  That’s all we can do by now!”

“It’s gonna be fine . . .,” Mikasa said reassuringly.  “Have some self-confidence, Armin.  If anyone can work out a solution to our problems, it’s you.  That ability of yours has saved Eren and me in the past.”

You gulped, and slowly rose to your feet, as someone shouted, “The lift is ready!”

You trudged down to the floor above the supplies room, along with Reiner, Bertholdt, Sasha, Annie, Jean, and Mikasa. 

“But . . . kill the Titans without the 3dmg?” you muttered as you trudged next to Reiner, hands in your pockets.

“Of course!” Reiner said in his signature booming voice, clapping you on the back.  “They’re three to four meters.  We’ll aim for their weak spots.”

“Yeah . . . forget about the size.  We’ll work our way from the head down to the neck,” Jean added.

“Height: one meter, width: ten centimeters!” Sasha intoned, her hands resting on her blades.

“Just in case: you can shove this up their asses, too!  That’s the second of the only two weaknesses they’ve got,” Reiner said with a grin, brandishing one of his blades.

“Never heard that before . . .,” Sasha said, a grin making its way onto her face as well, as you suppressed a laugh.

“Reiner . . . these might be your last words, you know,” Jean said grimly.

With a small snort of laughter, you gently nudged your way up to the front of the procession, next to Jean, and nudged his shoulder with your own.

“What?” he grumbled, shooting you an irritated glare.

“Easy, Horseface,” you retorted.  “Just make sure not to die, okay?  You scared me half to death out there.”

“Yeah, well, you too,” he grumbled as he drew out his holsters and attached his blades. 

The seven of you emerged into the service area above the supply room, which was crisscrossed with metal beams with hooks attached, for moving large crates of supplies. 

True to Armin’s word, seven Titans were meandering aimlessly around the room, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

With a nod to the others, you treaded onto one of the metal beams, moving swiftly to your designated spot, crouched low, blades drawn, and your boots making no sound. 

As you crouched in your spot, you watched as the lift slowly descended into the room with a loud grinding noise, immediately drawing the attention of all the Titans in the vicinity. 

They all started to make their way towards the lift, creepy grins stretched across their faces, and your heart started to race double time. 

This was it.  If you failed, that meant the death of everyone.  You had no gas, only your strength and the two twisted metal blades clutched in your trembling hands.  Not a lot to work with, sure, but you had managed with a lot less before. 

And then, as all of the Titans closed in, their hands reaching, their mouths open, Armin bellowed, “FIRE!”

Shots rang through the room, and there were seven showers of blood as the Titans’ eyes were shot out in an instant. 

Smoke billowed from their faces and they cried out, and you pushed off of your beam, brandishing your blades in front of you.

You flew towards your designated Titan, powered merely by the force of your own legs, and spun, driving your blades into the Titan’s neck, and you could feel the ripping of tendons and flesh.  You spun gracefully, falling down towards the ground, and managed to stick the landing.  You looked up anxiously, to see six giant bodies fall to the ground, steam hissing from the already dissolving flesh.

But Sasha had missed.

She landed heavily on the ground, and you saw that her slashes were nowhere near where they were supposed to be.

“Sasha’s in trouble!” you heard Marco yell from the lift.  “Hurry!  Go back ‘em up!”

You took off, sprinting toward the Titan, blades drawn, totally clueless as to how you were possibly going to kill the damn thing.

The Titan lunged for Sasha, both of them sliding on the ground in opposite directions. 

Mikasa got there first.

She lunged for it, driving her blades into its neck with brutal force.  The Titan went still, and steam gushed forth from its body.  You slid to a halt; your shoulders slumped in relief, your breathing heavy.  You sheathed your blades, and leaned against a nearby pillar, your whole body suddenly feeling as if it was full of lead. 

“MIKASAAAA!” Sasha cried, grabbing the front of Mikasa’s jacket, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Are you hurt?” Mikasa asked gently. 

“No, thanks to you!”

“Get up right away, then!”

“They’re all down for the count!” Jean whooped, a triumphant grin stretching across his face.  “Now to go restock on supplies!”

Cries of triumph and relief issued forth as people jumped down from the lift to search for supplies down below.  You stayed slumped against the pillar, breathing hard. This ordeal was finally over, the Titans around HQ were being pulverized thanks to that Rogue one, and you could finally scale the walls and end this brutally long day.

Jean, noticing you weren’t with him, jogged over to you, brows furrowed.

“You alright?” he asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You nodded.  “Tired, is all,” you breathed, managing a small smile.  “Ready for this day to end.”

“Me, too,” he sighed.  “Come on; let’s get our gas tanks refilled.” 

You nodded again, pushing away from the wall, refusing to acknowledge the shaking in your legs, and followed him over to the tanks.

Once your tank was filled to the brim, you and Jean were about to leap from a window of the supply room, when you heard the hiss of gas, and looked up to see a white column of it ascending upward, and a fluttering red scarf.

“Mikasa?!” Armin cried, and quickly followed her.

You glanced to Jean, who nodded curtly, and the two of you followed. 

They had landed on the rooftop, and as you landed next to them, you heard Armin say, “Mikasa . . . we need to get away, quickly. . . .”

“The Titan, over there . . .,” Mikasa muttered, pointing to across the road.

Your gaze traveled the line of sight of her finger, and you sucked in a breath.

The Rogue Titan was almost completely out of sight, underneath a horde of Titans that had descended upon it, ripping and tearing at its flesh. 

It roared, a wavering bellow that was considerably weaker than before. 

“Cannibalism?!” Armin gasped, and you watched in shocked silence as the other Titans tore off the Rogue Titan’s flesh, slowly and methodically.

_Shouldn’t it be regenerating?!_ you thought anxiously, as you saw a large portion of its ribs exposed, with only a few wisps of steam coiling off of the wound.

“If somehow . . .,” Mikasa muttered, “we could figure out what was going on with this Titan . . . we’d be able to work our way out of this hopeless situation.  It was a good chance, but too bad. . . .”

“I concur!” a loud voice shouted from behind you, and you turned to see Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie on the rooftop as well.  When had they decided to join you?  “If we let it get completely devoured, we’ll end up none the wiser!  Let’s go dispatch the Titans that are clinging to it.  We need it alive!”

“Reiner, are you out of your mind?!” Jean cried, whipping around to face him.  “We’ve just barely stuck our necks out of the water!”

“This Titan might turn out to be an ally.  How about that?  It’d be a much more powerful weapon than any cannon,” Annie added.

“An ally?!” Jean said incredulously.  “Are you talking seriously?!”

Armin suddenly gave a surprised “Ah!” and you turned to look at him.  He was watching a Titan slowly making its way toward the group that was gathered around the Rogue Titan.  “I know that one. . . .  It’s the unusual specimen that devoured Tomas . . .!”

As if hearing Armin’s words, in a sudden burst of strength, the Rogue Titan pushed away from the wall it was pinned against with a mighty roar, catapulting its way toward the abnormal.  Its teeth closed on the back of the abnormal’s neck, and cold realization settled in your stomach.

It had aimed for the weak spot.

The rest of the group watched in stunned silence as the Rogue Titan lifted the abnormal into the air, and then whipped it viciously to the ground, tearing off most of its limbs in the process.  Another Titan approached, and then the Rogue, still holding onto the abnormal’s neck, hurled it into the advancing Titan, knocking both of them through a house.

“Hey . . .,” Jean muttered shakily.  “Who is it you wanted to save again?”

The Rogue Titan, surveying its work, threw back its head and unleashed another roar, this one louder than ever before.  The roar echoed through the empty city, bouncing off of the empty buildings and scaring birds from their roosts.  It was a cry of victory.

And then, the Titan fell.

It crashed to its knees, and then face planted on the ground, steam billowing from its wounds.

“As expected . . .,” Jean grumbled, as he turned and began to walk away.  “It’s run out of juice, apparently.  It’s no big deal, now is it?  We’re off!  There’s no way we can make an ally of such a freak.  A Titan remains a Titan.”

But you barely heard him.  As Jean rambled on, you saw the flesh from the back of the Rogue Titan’s neck split, and a large cloud of steam gushed forth.  And faintly, within that cloud of steam, merged with the Titan’s flesh, was a shape.

A decidedly human shape.

Jean turned back around, and inhaled sharply.

As the steam started to clear, you saw that it was, indeed a person, and that person suddenly reared backward, freeing their upper body, and brown locks fluttered in the sunlight.  You recognized that build, those broad shoulders, that pale green shirt.

Apparently, Mikasa did, too.

She jumped off of the rooftop before a rational thought could even cross your mind. 

It was Eren.

The person was Eren.

Eren had just emerged from the Titan that had saved everyone’s lives. 

Now that you thought about it, the way the Rogue Titan had fought, its punches and holds, had seemed oddly familiar.  It had been Eren.

Eren . . . was a Titan?

The implications of such an idea hit you like a pound of bricks.  How was that even possible?  Eren, a Titan?  It was inconceivable, and as far as you knew, scientifically impossible. 

Mikasa landed on the ground, and sprinted over to the rapidly disintegrating Titan, her footsteps ringing in the silence.  She stopped for a minute, staring at his form, silhouetted against the sunlight, his eyes closed, and his body limp.  She ran forward, picking her way over the dissolving Titan body, and caught Eren in her arms.  She dragged him out of the Titanflesh, and collapsed on the ground, pressing her ear to his chest.

You catapulted off of the rooftop, and landed heavily on the ground, next to Mikasa’s crouched form, Eren cradled gently in her arms.  The rest of the group followed you, and you all watched with bated breath.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, her head still pressed to Eren’s chest, right over where his heart was, and you saw tears well in her eyes.

And then, the mighty, stoic, ever composed Mikasa Ackerman began to cry.  To wail, in fact.  You heard all the pain and grief she had been tucking away in that wild cry, and it sent a pang through your chest. 

Armin walked over to where Mikasa was sobbing, and dropped to his knees beside her, taking Eren’s hand and interlocking their fingers.

“What the hell . . .,” he blubbered, and you saw tears falling from his eyes, too, “happened . . .?”

And then, the realization seemed to hit everyone around you, and you heard multiple intakes of breath. 

“That means everything . . .,” Jean said, disbelief evident in his tone, “all of this was Eren’s doing, right . . .?”

You looked around you, at the multiple Titan bodies disintegrating, numerous columns of steam billowing into the air, and to be completely honest, you weren’t the least bit surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there wasn't much romance in this chapter, shit's goin down, you know?
> 
> Also, quick question: Should I consider doing writing commissions? I mean, if you guys wouldn't mind paying for crap like this, of course. It'd be a great way for me to get some money in the bank, you know how it is. But it's totally fine if you don't want to pay to read stuff I write! I myself am not very liberal with my money, so I completely understand. I would, of course, still upload here either way :)
> 
> As always, if you have any prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	10. The Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!!! so far i've spent summer waking up at 3pm and then not knowing whether it's wednesday or sunday, but i've managed to get myself together a little bit, and from now on, i'll try to upload a new chapter every saturday! :)

In a second, they were on you.

Military Police members, more than you had the time to count, popped up out of nowhere and seized the crowd surrounding Eren.  You were immediately wrenched backwards by the shoulders, and out of pure instinct, you whipped around, blindly throwing a kick in the general direction of your assailant.  You felt your foot connect with flesh, and heard a loud _HUFF_ of pain.

But before you could celebrate your victory, three more MP officers grabbed you, and before you could muster up the energy to wrench away, you felt a quick tap at your shin.  You looked to your left, and there was Jean, being marched away by an officer, and he leaned over to hiss at you, “Stop being a fucking idiot, [First].  Fight anymore and you’ll be arrested for treason.”

“Better listen to your boyfriend, sweetheart,” a rough, mocking voice came from behind you, and you were shoved roughly in the small of your back. 

You stumbled, and were about to whip around, your lip curling in a growl, when you felt warm, familiar fingers closing around your wrist, and you were jerked forward.

“What did I just fucking say?” Jean growled, tugging you along beside him.  “ _Cool it.”_

“Hey, buddy, your girlfriend can walk herself, can’t she?” the officer directing Jean snapped, and he motioned to another, whose hand was immediately clamped around your forearm.  You forced down your anger and allowed him to steer you away, but you couldn’t help chancing one glance back, at the officers surrounding Mikasa, Eren, and Armin, and the curls of Titan steam still curling up into the sky.

* * *

You were taken all the way into the interior of Wall Rose, to a snooty looking MP official, who instructed you in a voice taut with anxiety that if you said anything, anything at all, to anyone, that you would be arrested and tried for treason. 

You were quickly released to a makeshift base only a block from the Wall, a street lined with houses, a formerly peaceful and calm place that now had become a place of respite for soldiers.

“Woulda taped our mouths shut if they could,” you grumbled as you rubbed the forearm the officer had gripped.  You were sure you would have four finger shaped bruises by tomorrow morning.

Jean didn’t respond, instead he swiped a pouch of water from a crate and crashed down onto the front steps of one of the houses.

You sighed and sat next to him, staring at the wagons as they careened by, full of supplies, and, you noticed with a gulp, as you looked closer, bodies.

“Trainees!” an official called, leaping off of a wagon passing by and landing with a poof of dust.  “Equip yourselves, get in team formations, and await orders!”

“Yes, yes,” you sighed tiredly, swiping the pouch from Jean’s grasp and taking a swig.  As you glanced up and down the street, you saw that not one person had moved.

Connie was sitting on the steps next to you, with Christa, Ymir, and a host of other trainees gathered in front of him. 

You heard him saying, “And that’s how we managed to get our hands on some gas. . . .”

“Oh my god,” Christa gasped quietly, her hands going to her mouth.  “So sorry . . . to think I’d volunteered so many times to help supply everyone. . . .”

“After all the trouble we went through to get that gas . . .,” Ymir grumbled, scratching at the back of her neck.  “Now everyone and their mom know about it!  I guess someone here just couldn’t keep their damn mouth shut. . . .”

“S . . . so the people that aren’t here with us right now are all . . .,” Christa breathed, her crystal blue eyes going wide with shock.

“Yeah . . .,” Connie sighed defeatedly, his gaze downcast, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?  Even Mikasa?  _The_ Mikasa?” Ymir asked doubtfully, raising an eyebrow.

“Hm?” Connie said, and you saw him visibly gulp.  “Erm . . . I thought Mikasa was merely lagging behind, like Jean and the others, but well. . . .  Hey, Jean . . . is she wounded or something?”

Jean’s eyebrows furrowed further, and he snatched the water pouch back from you, taking a hearty swig.  “That’s confidential stuff . . . .,” he grumbled, his gaze sliding over to Connie.  “We’re forbidden to tell.  Though I’m not so sure how well that whole secrecy thing will work out. . . .”

“Confidential?” Connie asked curiously.

“What’s that about?” Ymir asked, her hands in her pockets.

“It’s not the kind of thing you can keep under wraps . . . .,” Jean answered, staring dully at the water pouch resting in his hand.  “I expect before long, all of humanity will know . . . assuming there’s still a human race to speak of. . . .”

“Stop it,” you said quietly, nudging him tiredly.  “You’re being such a defeatist.  Jaeger was right about you after all,” you added with a snort, and he glared at you. 

“Shut it,” he grumbled, taking another swig of water.

And at that moment, you knew he desperately wished it was beer he was chugging, back in the mess hall at trainee camp, before any of this shit had happened.  And you had to admit, you would give anything to be back in that alcohol-clogged mess hall, too.

You heard wailing erupt from across the street, and you looked up, resting your dull gaze on Daz, who was crouched against a house across from you, his hands buried in his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks.  Marco was next to him, hand on his shoulder, and you saw his mouth moving, but you couldn’t hear him over the commotion of the wagons going by. 

Suddenly, Daz drew his blade from its sheath, and Marco lunged to grab his hand, fighting to get him to drop it. 

“If I’m gonna be eaten alive . . .!” Daz screeched, “. . . it might as well happen now!”

“Stop it!” Marco screamed, wrestling Daz’s hand away from his blade.  There were more words you couldn’t hear, Marco glancing over at Sasha, and before you knew it she was on the ground too, wailing.  And then Daz was shaking Marco off, drawing his blade further, pointing it at his throat, Marco was yelling, trying to wrench Daz’s hands away –

Suddenly, there was a cannon blast, shaking the ground beneath your feet and bouncing off of the houses above you, ringing around the city.

And then there was chaos.

Everyone around you leapt to their feet, staring at a column of steam that had erupted, coiling upwards, and it was close, eerily close.  You stared up at it, and you heard Jean swear next to you.  You ran out into the open, swiveling your gaze over the rooftops, looking for heads peering over them, waiting for the screaming to start.

“A cannon?!”

“Why are they firing only one shot?!”

“Hey?!”

“That came from inside the Wall!”

“Did they breach through the flood gate?!”

“They can’t have.  It’s one of the sturdiest positions we’ve got . . . surely that was just a stray projectile.”

“Even then . . . what’s with all that smoke?!”

“Is that Titan vapor?!  No way!”

You saw Reiner stiffen next to you, his eyes going wide.  Before you could grab his arm, he was shooting a hook into the rooftop, and catapulting up and out of sight.

“Reiner?!” you cried, as he disappeared from sight, leaving a large column of puffy white gas in his wake.

Suddenly, Bertholdt and Annie shot up after him, and you cried, “Hey?!  Guys!”

Gritting your teeth, you tore your blade holders from their sheaths, clicked the levers, and tore after them, Jean right behind you.  You landed on the rooftop with a clatter, to see Reiner standing on the next rooftop over, directly above the column of steam’s origin.  He seemed to be frozen, his hands hanging limply at his sides, his blade holders dangling from their attached wires.

“What the hell?” he breathed, and as you jogged up next to him, you saw it, too.

A Titan.

Well, to be more accurate, half of a Titan.

It was slumped against the corner of the Wall, and on closer inspection, all that remained was the upper body, only to the end of the ribcage, and it was lacking even arms.  Its head was slumped forward, its mouth hanging open, its eye staring fixedly at the ground. 

It wasn’t moving.

The Titan was just bones, with a few scant muscles hastily tied together on its left side.  The bones of its ribcage were already starting to disintegrate into dust, the tendons loosening and falling away, the gleaming white skull dipping lower and lower as the tendons in its neck failed.

And then you looked closer.

There were two figures huddled within the Titan’s ribcage. 

And then, with a sudden jolt, the Titan’s eyes rolled back in its head, and a shiver seemed to pass through its entire frame. 

Suddenly, with a giant burst of steam, the back of the Titan’s neck split open, and you had a sudden flash of déjà vu; a Titan slumped on the ground, face-first, it’s neck splitting open, steam, a figure –

Eren burst from the back of the Titan’s neck with a grunt of pain, his upper body reeling backwards with the force of his ejection.  He methodically started to tear himself from the Titanflesh, ripping the tendons that were stuck fast to his skin. 

And then the steam enveloped him, obscuring him from view.

“What the fuck is going on?” you breathed, your hands shaking at your sides. 

The Titan corpse suddenly lurched forward, emitting another large cloud of steam, and landed with a crash on the ground.

Crippling anxiety suddenly hit you like a wave, and you gritted your teeth, your hands curling into fists. 

You didn’t want them to die.  You didn’t want any more people to die.  It didn’t matter what Eren was.  All that mattered was that he had saved a whole fuckton of people.  He had saved your goddamn life, and you found yourself hoping that they would escape somehow, that everything would be okay, that someone, _anyone,_ would save them.

“Twenty seconds. . . .,” you mumbled, your eyes flicking up to the top of the Wall.  “They’ve got twenty seconds. . . .  Twenty seconds at the least before they reload the cannon.  They have to get out of here in the next twenty seconds or. . . .”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Jean breathed from next to you, you turned to look at him, and his gaze was furious and helpless and horribly confused all at the same time.  “Eren . . . he’s . . . he’s a Titan . . . he’s a _monster –_ ”

“That ‘monster’ saved all of our goddamn lives, and you know it,” you snapped, your eyes narrowing.  “Killing someone sure is a shitty way to repay them for saving your ass.”

He was about to retort, when a shout burst from below you, and you whipped around to look.

A figure was striding out of the rapidly dissipating steam, their arms held up in a gesture of surrender, and as they strode out of the shadow of the wall, you saw golden hair shine in the sunlight.

It was Armin.

“Stop right there!” an official at the head of the crowd shouted.  “Scum!”

“He isn’t humankind’s enemy, sir!” Armin shouted back, his voice ringing through the air.  “We’re willing to yield all the information we’ve garnered regarding the Titans!”

“Quit pleading for your life, we won’t hear it!” the official retorted.  “You’ve just revealed your true colors right in front of us, but you’re still talking?  Now that’s rich!  If you’re trying to say he’s not a Titan, show me the proof!  Failing that, we will just eliminate the threat that he represents!”

Your breath hitched in your throat.  This man, like countless other soldiers shaking in fear around him, was well beyond reason.  His eyes were wide, so wide you could see the whites even from this distance, and his hands were clenched in fists at his sides.  You had seen this expression before.  The cornered animal look, the look of fear and desperation right before the last-ditch attempt to save its own hide.

“There’s no need for proof!”  Armin yelled.  “It was never about what we should acknowledge him as in the first place!”

“Excuse me?!”

“I understand that many people saw what happened!” Armin continued.  “Then they must have seen him fighting against the Titans as well!  And they must have seen the Titans swarming around him as well!”  A shudder passed through the group as they took in Armin’s words.  “That means those Titans regarded him the same way they consider us humans: as food!  No matter how we try to slice it, that much is undeniable!”

There was silence.  Muttering broke out among the ranks of soldiers surrounding the official, and you gulped. 

“Come on, Armin . . . .,” you muttered, leaning forward.

“We’re going to attack!  Get in position!” the official cried, and your heart jumped into your throat.  “Don’t get ensnared into their traps, no matter how clever they are!  Their ways are alien to us and have always been!  I wouldn’t put it past them to be able to turn into humans!  We shan’t let them have their way with us any longer!”

“No . . . .,” you breathed, reeling backwards, your hand scrabbling for something to hold onto, and you came into contact with Jean’s sleeve.  His hand immediately curled around yours, and you looked back at him, your heart beating a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum, your stomach roiling with anxiety.

“It’ll be okay,” he said resolutely, and even though he was sweating bullets, and the hand clasped in yours was shaking, you believed him.  “Armin’s smart, he can get out of anything.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and he let go of your hand.

To be honest, you missed the warmth.

Armin was staring back at Eren and Mikasa, and you saw the hopelessness plastered on his face.  And then he gritted his teeth, his fists clenched at his side, and he whipped around, face defiant, and so terribly, wonderfully alive.

“I was, I am, I remain a soldier!” Armin bellowed, banging his fist to his heart.  “Sworn to dedicate my heart and soul to the restoration of humankind!  I have no greater ambition than to give up my life should it help that cause!  Let us add that ‘Titan power’ of his to our own remaining forces!  We might even be able to reconquer the town that way!  For the human race’s greatest glory!  I shall use what little time remains till I go to my grave . . . to advocate the strategic advantage that he represents!”

The official’s arm slowly started to rise. 

Everything slowed down.  It was done.  Armin’s pleas hadn’t worked.

They were going to die.

All three of them, three of your _friends_ , were going to die.

You couldn’t let that happen, not again, you couldn’t bear to lose any more people.

Armin went stock still, his arms dropping to his side, his eyes going wide with the look of someone who knew that they were about to die.

Your hands were on your blades, your fingers taut and ready, and your whole body poised, ready to jump –

“That’s enough.”

The voice rang through the air, and your heart jumped to see a hand grasping the official’s arm.

“Brittle as a twig, just as you’ve always been.  Didn’t you see how beautiful that salute was?” 

That hand belonged to Commander Dot Pixis.

“Commander Pixis . . .!” the official stuttered, his face going white.

“I barely arrived here, but I believe I’m catching on fast enough,” Pixis said, smiling grimly.  “You take care of spear-heading the reinforcements.  As for me . . .,” he added, his gaze swiveling to Armin, Eren, and Mikasa, “something tells me that I would do well . . . to listen to what those three have to say.”

You collapsed onto the rooftop in a heap of limbs, relief washing over you like warm water.

“He did it . . .,” you breathed.  “They’re alive.”

“’Course he did it,” Jean grumbled.  “That’s Armin we’re talking about.  Now come on.  We have to get back.” 

He offered you his hand, and you took it.

* * *

“A plan to recapture Trost?!”

“As I said,” the official from before intoned, as he stood in front of all the surviving soldiers, his gaze dark.  “The Commander is coming up with a plan as we speak to take back Trost.  We ask only your cooperation and that you please await more orders.”

“As in right away?!”

“They’ve gotta be kidding!  We can’t close up that hole in the gate!  We don’t have the technology . . .!”

“What is the top brass thinking?!  If we enter the Trost District again, we’ll just die pointlessly!”

“Since we can’t repair the hole . . . all we could do is die defending Wall Rose. . . .”

“Damn it . . . what are they?  Glory hounds . . .?”

“This is fucking insane,” you grumbled, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Tell me about it,” Jean agreed from next to you, his gaze traveling over the restless crowd. 

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the crowd, “No!  I don’t wanna die!  I wanna see my family please!”

It was Daz, again.

“You there!” another voice yelled, and the crowd parted to reveal a Garrison soldier striding toward Daz, his gaze murderous.  “I heard that!  You want to walk away from your given assignment?!  Do you . . .?!”

“Yes sir!  I do!” Daz replied readily, and you flinched.  “This is nothing short of mass suicide, and it’ll avail us nothing!  There is no point!”

“What do you make of humanity . . . what do you make of the rules . . .?” the soldier replied, his hand going to his blades.  “I’d be well within my rights to have you executed on the spot!”

“Fine!” Daz cried, drawing his own blade.  “That’s a hundred times better than ending up as Titan food . . .!”

With a huff and a haughty glare, the soldier sheathed his blade, and walked away.

“Hey . . . did you hear that . . .?” someone in front of you whispered.

“Hardly surprising, given the situation,” the person next to them responded.

“Say . . .,” a girl in front of you whispered to the one next to her, “I wish someone would rebel here as well. . . .”

“Me too . . .,” her friend whispered back.  “I wanna choose the way I go down, at least. . . .”

“Hey, you . . .,” another Garrison solider murmured, shouldering his way toward the girl, who jumped and emitted a small shocked noise.

“I-I was only joking . . .,” she rapidly backpedaled, her hands going up in a gesture of surrender.

“Do it!” the soldier commanded.

“Come again?!”

“Make as much noise as possible!  With as many people as you can!  There is much discontent within the ranks of the Stationary Troops.  I’ll take advantage of the commotion to get away.”

“Get away?  Where to?” Jean piped up, his eyes troubled.

“I will go to my daughter!” the soldier responded.  “The Gate here is gonna go down anyway!”

In the next moments, you swore your eardrums almost imploded.

“Soldiers!” you heard a shout from atop the Wall, and you turned to see two figures atop it, Commander Dot Pixis, and Eren Jaeger.  “ATTENTIOOOOOOOOOON!”  Everyone immediately went silent as the shout ricocheted around the city, eventually echoing off into the distance.  “I am about to lay out our strategy for the recapture of Trost District!  Our objective is the gate that has been destroyed!  To succeed, we must do two things!  Reach the hole!  And stopper it!”

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd, and you stiffened.  Stopper the hole?  How the everloving fuck were they going to do that?!  The technology currently available wasn’t nearly enough to lift that boulder to the gate, especially not with Titans roaming around.

“As for the way we’ll proceed, let me start by introducing this young man!” Pixis continued.  “Eren Jaeger, from the trainees unit!”

“Wha –?!  E . . . Eren?!” you heard Connie cry, and similar exclamations and shocked gasps emitted from all around you. 

“We’ve been carrying out secret experiments on Titan shape shifting, and he is the successful result of that endeavor!  He has the ability to purge the body of a Titan and control it at will!  He will turn into a Titan!  Pick up that large rock not far from the front gate . . . and carry it to the destroyed gate!  And stopper the hole!  Your role, ladies and gentlemen, is to protect him from the other Titans . . . until such time as he’s done moving the stone!”

Yelling immediately burst throughout the crowd, and you looked anxiously around you at all the fearful, desperate faces.  This was bad.  This was very, very bad.

“Human weapons, eh,” someone grumbled to your left.

“What a load of bunk.  How many of us did they expect to take them seriously . . .?  You gotta be kidding,” another man snapped.

“Humanity’s done for!  I’m spending what little time is left with my family!” you heard Daz shout, and you saw him whip around and stalk back up the road. 

And then, soldier after soldier broke away from the crowd, striding away.  You turned from side to side, the helplessness within you growing. 

At that moment, you realized that you couldn’t run away, not even if you wanted to.

Because there was absolutely nothing for you to go back to.

“HERE ARE MY ORDERS!” Pixis’s voice boomed out once again, and all movement stopped.  “Those of you who leave this place now will all be pardoned!”  A shocked ripple went through the crowd.  He was letting them all _go_. . .?!  “Titans are terrible creatures, and once someone gives in to that fear, they can never fight one of them again!  Those of you who have already experienced that dread are free to go away!  FINALLY!  THOSE OF YOU WHO WOULD ALLOW THEIR OWN PARENTS, SIBLINGS, AND LOVED ONES TO EXPERIENCE SUCH TERROR FOR THEMSELVES . . . ARE ALL FREE TO WALK AWAY!”

It was as if everyone turned to ice.  You grimaced.  He certainly had them now.

And then, one by one, they all trickled back, heads hanging low, shoulders slumped. 

Because they knew, it was either their lives, or their loved ones.

“Cunning bastard . . .,” you muttered.

“Let us talk about four years ago!” Pixis went on.  “About the operation for the recovery of Wall Maria!  I believe I needn’t bother with an explanation!  You all understand where I’m going with this!  A recapture plan!  That had a nice ring to it!  But essentially, it was just a culling of the unemployed masses the government could no longer afford to support!  Everybody kept silent about it, thus allowing them to be driven out to their collective doom!  Thanks to this we have been able to survive within the confined space of these walls!  It was a sin of which all of us humans are guilty, myself included!  Conflict with the inhabitants of Wall Maria never became a prominent issue, since they’ve always been attacking in small groups!  But what now?!  If Wall Rose is breached, we won’t get away with a mere 20% less mouths to feed!  With only Wall Sina left to live in, not even half of what remains of humanity would live on!  If the human race dies out, it won’t be because the Titans ate us all . . . but because we humans have been our own bane!”

Silence reigned over the survivors of the Fall.

And you were afraid.

Dear God, were you afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaahh, another not really romantic chapter.... i just kinda ground this one out, because these are the boring chapters before the real action begins. but in the next few chapters are where reader's part in the story starts to come into play, and i'm very excited to write those :)  
> hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)  
> and, as always, if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	11. Warzone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here's the next chapter! so much shit's going down, and i'm working on making the next chapter as painful as possible :)  
> haha, hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> and i'm not kidding about the pain thing

They shipped you up in droves, in cramped elevators filled to the brim with shifting, anxious bodies, up to the very top of the Wall.  Officials with roses stamped on their shoulders split the mass of trainees and low ranking Garrison soldiers into two groups, an ever-shifting, sweaty, crowded block at the corner of the wall, looking down over Trost, and a supply team.  You and Jean were sorted into the Titan bait at the corner of the wall.

As you looked down, over the edge, you could just see them.  Some were so small that they were just smudges shifting below, but others were so tall that you could see their wide grins flashing in the sunlight.  Your stomach revolted, and you dug your fingernails into your palms.  It would do you no good to lose your composure here.

“Soldiers!” an official called from the left, and hundreds of heads turned to look.  “Our job, to put it simply, is to distract the Titans while Eren Jaeger seals up the gate!  A few select soldiers will hang from the Wall on their 3dmg, in order to keep the Titans’ attention!  All the rest of you need to do is stand here, and try not to fall!”

You gulped, your heart pounding in your chest.  You shrank back into the crowd, watching with anxious eyes as officials waded through the squad, picking random soldiers to go dangle above the Titans’ gaping jaws.  It was like during school, when the teacher was picking random students to answer questions, and you tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

“You!  You, there!  Yes, you!”

Your heart leaped into your throat as you whipped around, your eyes wide with panic, staring at the official standing in front of you.  It was akin to the moment when you missed a step going up the stairs, and you were falling, falling backwards, your hands scrabbling for purchase, your stomach leaping and twisting inside of you, except the feeling was constant, never-ending, and there was no railing for you to grasp, only cold, hard stone below you. 

The official was pointing to the soldier next to you, who looked about ready to throw up. 

A breathy sigh of relief burst from your lips, and your knees gave way.  You were succumbing to the darkness enveloping your vision, when a strong arm twined around your waist, holding you up. 

“Keep it together, [Last],” a familiar voice hissed in your ear, and you looked up, blinking in confusion.  Jean’s face was hovering above yours, his brow furrowed.  “Come on, stand up.”

You nodded, grasping his sleeve for support as your shaky feet resumed their position.  You slowly put your weight on them, shifting experimentally.  You let go of Jean’s sleeve, and shot him a grateful closed-lips smile.

“Jesus, who knew you were such a scaredy-cat,” he joked, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Can it, Horseface,” you snapped back with a scowl.  “Who was the one who nearly passed out in the elevator?”

“Sh-shut up!” he stammered, his cheeks going red. 

Your retort was cut off by a loud shout of “SIR, YES, SIR!” and you turned around to see the chosen soldiers standing at the edge of the Wall, grasping their blades.  Some of them were visibly shaking.  And in one fluid movement, they jumped. 

As they disappeared from view you waited anxiously, waiting for the first scream to rip through the air.  Instead, you heard hook after hook slam into the hard stone of the Wall, and the reeling sound of wires retracting and extending. 

A light buzz of chatter hovered over the mass of soldiers, shifty eyes darting from official to official as they wondered just what the hell they were doing using a goddamn _Titan boy_ to close up the Wall. 

“Hey, Jean,” you whispered, turning to see the copper haired boy staring intently at the edge of the Wall.  “Do you think Eren can really do it?”

“Huh?  Jaeger?” Jean asked, snorting and turning to look at you.  “It doesn’t matter what I think, he _has_ to.  Or else we’ll all die.”

“Always such a defeatist,” you teased, rolling your eyes.

“Can it,” he shot back, eyes narrowing.

And _that_ was when the screaming started. 

An Abnormal, they said.  It just leaped upwards; jaws extended, and snatched a soldier off of the Wall as if it were the easiest thing in the world.  That was when the real panic started. 

People started shouting for the rest to be reeled in, to call off the mission entirely, there were wails and cries rebounding through the air, and the officials were desperately trying to restore order.

And then you heard the crack.

It sounded like a gunshot, a very far away gunshot, but it resounded in the ears of everyone present, and they all looked up in unison.

A red flare was coiling into the sky.

Dread twisted your stomach into a knot.  Had they failed?  Had the mission gone horribly awry?  Was Titan Eren rampaging around the city? 

“Did they . . . fail?” you breathed. 

You turned to Jean for reassurance, for a confident reply, that no, they didn’t fail, they had just run into some complications, everything would be alright, everyone would live –

But you did not find solace in his face.  He was trembling, his hands clenched in fists at his sides, staring at the ground.  He looked like he was trying desperately not to throw up. 

_Dammit dammit dammit dammit DAMMIT!_ Was everything going to end right here?  Had humanity finally come to its last moments? 

The panic around you was growing in intensity; people were threatening officials with their blades, demanding they take them back down the Wall to their families, so they could spend the last moments of their lives with the ones they loved. 

And that was when you saw it.  A great cloud of steam, curling around a large object hoisted high in the air, creeping towards the Gate.  You tugged on Jean’s sleeve, gesturing wordlessly, and you heard his sharp intake of breath.

It was Eren. 

It must be Eren, it couldn’t be anything _but_ Eren.  There were small wisps of steam where Titans lay decomposing in the sun, but this cloud of steam was thick, never-ending, and almost violent in the way it spewed into the air. 

You saw it violently pitch forward, and for a split second you thought that everything had been for naught, that Eren had been crushed under the weight –

That was when the second flare shot up into the sky

It was yellow.

There was silence. 

And then it was as if a weight had been lifted off of everyone’s shoulders, as if hands that had been clamped around everyone’s throats finally decided to let go.  Cheering rose up, raucous screams and shouts, and there were tears of relief and joy all around, and you felt tears of your own pricking at your eyes.

For the first time, humanity had won. 

Your heart swelled in your chest like a crescendo, and you whipped around, meeting Jean’s eyes.

You smiled. 

“We won.”

* * *

Shortly after Eren sealed the Wall, the Scouting Legion and the Stationary Troops’ Engineering Division showed up, already working on making Wall Rose impervious to another Titan intrusion. 

But the celebrations didn’t last long, for the death toll was high.

Far, far too high.

Jean stood on the edge of the Wall, looking down at Trost, after the crowd of people had mostly dispersed, looking down at the roofs covered in spots of blood, at the faint pinpricks that were bodies lining the streets.

“Never again . . .,” he muttered, his hands clenched into fists.  “Never . . . never again . . . I have to get to the Inner Wall . . . so I’ll never, ever . . . have to do this . . . ever again.”

You flinched.  Anger bubbled up inside of you.  So many had died, so many had risked their lives so that Jean fucking Kirschtein could stand where he was right now, and he wanted to run.  He wanted to turn tail and make a break for the Inner Wall as fast as he could, he wanted to cover his ears with his hands and hum loudly as the world crumbled around him.  He wanted to run, to ignore it for as long as possible, to distance himself from everything that caused him discomfort.

You had been the same way, once.  You had even thought about going for it a couple times, too.  Just hitching up a horse and riding for Wall Sina, taking refuge in the underground city and waiting it out. 

But you were a soldier now.  You had a responsibility, a duty, and yeah, you didn’t like it, and god, were you scared, but you had to anyway.  If there was one thing you had learned from your years on the streets, homeless, parent-less, was that running never did you any good.  It all caught up to you eventually, no matter what corner of the Walls you ran to, you could never, ever escape.  The only thing you could do was dig your heels in, and turn around. 

You had always thought being brave was not feeling fear at all.  But you had come to learn that being brave was being scared shitless, and getting the fucking job done anyway.

“Then go,” you said icily, stepping up next to him.  “Leave.”  And suddenly you found yourself remembering one particular night during training, after a confrontation between Jean and Eren, when Eren had knocked Horseface to the floor in what you would later take as inspiration for your Dust Grinder.  You remembered Eren standing over Jean, his brows drawn together, his eyes blazing with cool anger.  It was a stark contrast to the fiery rage Jaeger normally exuded, and you listened in shocked silence as Eren berated him for being a coward.  Who knew that you would one day quote Eren Jaeger, of all people?  “A life spent in indolence, following your every whim?  That’s your idea of reality, huh?  And you _dare_ to call yourself a soldier?  People _died,_ Jean, people are still going to die as we try to rid this hellhole of Titans, and you want to _run?”_

Jean blinked at you, his eyes going wide.  “N-No, [First], I-I didn’t –”

“Save your breath,” you grumbled, stalking away.  “We both know what you meant.”

* * *

The cannons didn’t stop for an entire day.  Endlessly, endlessly, they shot down into the horde of Titans crowded around the Wall, until most of them were blown to bits.  But of course, there were still many roaming around Trost, unable to be fired at by the low-accuracy cannons, mostly Abnormals, who were indifferent to the large concentrations of humans on top of the Wall.

And that was where the trainees and the Scouting Legion came in.  You were all split into teams, and assigned to go into Trost and take out as many Titans as you could. 

You had to go back.  You had to go back to that hell.  You stood in a group, between Jean and Marco, listening as a Garrison official divided the ones present into teams.

You were placed on a semi-elite team, all with Scouting Legion soldiers that you didn’t know.  You were assigned to the dead center of Trost, Jean to one of the left wings, Marco to the one of the right.  You had to move out.  Immediately. 

As your team began making preparations, you snuck your way over to Jean and Marco, who were refilling their gas tanks.

“Hey.  You two,” you said as you jogged up to them, your stomach a roiling mess of nerves.  They both looked up at you, and you felt a lump form in your throat.  “You both better fucking survive, okay?  Or I’ll never forgive you.”

Jean rolled his eyes and tched, while Marco gave you a soft, reassuring smile, and said, “Don’t worry, [First], I promise we’ll both be back for dinner.”

At that moment, an official barked out an order for Marco’s squad, which he was captain of, to move out, and he shot you a smile before jogging away.

You never saw him again.

* * *

It’s supposed to be easier each time you do it, they told you.  Every time you go out into the field, blades swinging, risking your life, was supposed to be easier than the last.  You were supposed to have more experience, more knowledge, you were supposed to be able to see what was coming because you had seen it before, and prepare for it accordingly.  They said the second time was infinitely easier than the first, because that was when you had learned to block everything out.

But not for you. 

You leapt off of the Wall, blades drawn, ready to stuff your emotions away into a box, and just kill blindly, like you had done before.  But instead, you felt _everything._

The screaming hit you first.  You saw a Titan, speeding toward you as you fell, with a soldier in its mouth, chewing thoughtfully.  The poor man was screaming, half of his torso already engulfed by the beast, tears streaming down his bloody face.  You swung violently, slicing the Titan’s neck so deeply that you severed the spine. 

But the man was dead before he even hit the ground.

You had no time to mourn.  You moved onto the next Titan, leering over a rooftop, its lips and fingers covered in blood.  You killed that one too, your clothes splattered with Titan blood, and that was when you realized you were crying.

Every spot of blood you whipped by, every body that you saw lying in the street, you were no longer able to ignore.  Before, they had just been stains, empty shells of what once was, lumps of flesh bound together by ropes of muscle that no longer meant anything.  But now, each one was a person, a person with a family, likes, dislikes, dreams, aspirations, _and friends._ Friends who would fly up back to the Wall, their faces tired but triumphant, and start looking.  And they would look harder and harder, growing increasingly more desperate, their blood singing in their veins as they stumbled through the crowds, asking, screaming, has anyone, _anyone,_ seen my friend?  And then they would find the one person, the one person with gaunt, hollow eyes, and clothes stained with blood that refused to evaporate.  And they would know, then.  They would fall to the ground, tears streaming down their faces, hands buried in their hair, screaming _why, why, why?_

You knew.  You had seen it happen, more times than it should.

And so you killed.  Angrier and angrier, sadder and sadder, fiercer and fiercer you got as you carved your way through Trost, blood staining your face and clotting your hair together, soaking through your clothes, and clinging to your skin.  Some of it evaporated into steam, curling away into the too blue sky.  Some of it didn’t. 

You watched as members of your team started dropping like flies, snatched out of the air in the same way one would catch a lightning bug in a jar.  You watched everyone around you die a horrible, horrible death, and you began to wonder why you had to keep bearing the curse of living.  And you realized, in that moment, that if a Titan grabbed you, right then, you wouldn’t even mind. 

Perhaps it would be a blessing to die.

You almost wished that the military had devised some other way to kill Titans, something other than blades and cannons.  Because you hated feeling the flesh rip, hated seeing the blood spew, hated everything.  Killing with blades was so personal, so intimate, they forced you to feel every single little thing, they were adamant about throwing all the vileness of war right into your face.

And so you stood, on a rooftop in the center of Trost, blades dull and bloodied, your breathing heavy, your limbs like lead.

And you were alone. 

Even though you had only known them for a few minutes, you had killed with them.  You had worked with them to bring down Titan after Titan, and one by one, you watched each of them die.

That, too, was personal.

Above all else, above all the death and destruction and blood, you hated seeing the light fade from their eyes.  It was a life.  It _mattered._   And then it was gone. 

You watched through hazy vision as your comrades attempted to put down the Titans around you.  You could see them, tiny black shapes whizzing through the air, slashing and yelling and screaming.  And always, always, there were bursts of blood, gurgling, petrified screams, before the damn Titan decided to die. 

You should probably go help.  It was your duty, in fact, to help.  But you could only stand there and stare at the chaos around you, wondering why, why, why. 

And then, of course, you remembered.

_Jean._

God, the last thing you had said to him had been horrible, angry, and you couldn’t let either one of you leave this world without apologizing, without hugging the life out of him. 

You set off to the left, flying past the death and destruction, lending a fleeting hand where you could, putting down every Titan that dared to block your way. 

You couldn’t find him.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck,_ where was he?!  Was he – no, no, no, he promised, he promised, he promised, he’s alive, he is, he’s probably already back at the Wall, maybe the left wing is cleared out, go to the Wall, go to the Wall, he’s there, he’s there –

You made a quick turn around a clock tower and rocketed your way back to the Wall, slashing and ripping your way through Titan after Titan, and still, with your mind occupied with thoughts of the one person who had made an indent in your existence, you felt everything.

And you were still crying.  You wondered when you would run out of tears.

You pulled your way up the Wall, scrubbing at your face furiously with your sleeve, trying to compose yourself.  Soldiers didn’t cry.  You didn’t even care if your section had been given the signal to withdraw, all you needed to know was that Jean was there.  As you landed on top of the Wall, you glanced left and right, your eyes searching for copper-blond hair, or at least someone from his squad.

You spotted Connie and Annie, peering over the Wall anxiously, their faces taught. 

“Guys!” you panted as you jogged up to them, gnawing on the inside of your cheek to keep your composure.  “Where’s Jean?  Have you seen him?”

They shot each other a look, and your blood ran cold.

“He’s down there,” Annie said curtly, pointing with one long, slender finger.  “His gear’s broken.”

You whipped around, heart pounding in your chest, threatening to break through your ribcage, and as you squinted, you saw a lone figure, tugging frantically at a corpse.

It was Jean. 

A large shape loomed in the distance. 

“We have to go help!” you yelled, your voice cracking, as you hurriedly whipped your blades from their sheaths.

“No,” Annie said forcefully, placing a strong hand on your shoulder.  “You stay here.  You’re injured.”

“Injured?” you asked bewilderedly.  “I’m not –”

Annie gestured impatiently to your arm, and you glanced down, inhaling sharply.

The dull sensation that had been spreading throughout your left arm, which you had assumed to be just a pulled muscle, or your body protesting at all the exertion, was neither of those things.  A long gash ran from just below your shoulder to your wrist, and your shirt and jacket were absolutely soaked with blood.

“How did I . . .?” you breathed, your shoulders starting to shake.

Ah, now you remembered.  You had been pulling someone out of a Titan’s mouth, and one of the Titan’s incisors had scratched down your arm.  You had barely registered the injury at the time, instead focusing on getting the gravely injured soldier to the nearest medical squad.

But now that you had noticed it, a searing pain burst in your arm, and you clamped your right hand over the incision, hunched over in pain, gritting your teeth so as not to cry out.  You were amazed you had been able to swing it at all, before.  Now, you could barely move it an inch.

“He’ll be fine,” Annie said determinedly.  “We’ll save him.  I promise.”

You looked into Annie’s cold, hard, ice-blue eyes, and knew that she absolutely meant what she said.  You nodded, and watched as the two of them careened down the Wall.  You hissed as another bolt of pain seared down your arm, and hobbled over to the nearest medical squad.

They immediately started to flutter around you, gingerly removing your jacket and trying to roll up the sleeve of your blouse.  However, the blood pouring from the wound had stuck the cloth fast to your skin, and trying to peel it up your arm caused agonizing pain.  One of the medical examiners, scowling with determination, snatched a scalpel from another’s hand, and sawed the sleeve right off.  Pulling it up and away turned out to be much easier with the help of a little water, and you dimly reflected that you would never be able to wear this blouse again.

What followed after was just a haze of excruciating pain, as the doctors cleaned and disinfected the wound, and swiftly wrapped it in crisp white bandages.  They told you to rest it for as long as possible, that you were infinitely lucky that the cut wasn’t deeper, to change the bandages every day, or when they got too dirty.  The doctor punched a hole through the collar of your jacket, muttering that you were about to get a new one anyway, and threaded a cord through it, so you could wear the jacket on one arm, and thread the cord under your other armpit so that the heavy leather article of clothing stayed in place.  You thanked the team of doctors with a tired smile, managed to finagle your jacket onto your shoulders, and set off in search of Connie and Annie.

Suddenly, you heard your name.

“[First]!” a voice was calling.  “[Fiiiiiiiirst]!”

Your heart leapt into your throat, and you turned around and around, looking for the source of the sound.

You glimpsed a shaved head between the shifting bodies all around you.  Behind and above it, was a copper-blond head.

Your anxiety left you so fast that you almost dropped to your knees.  You ran forward, reaching out to give him a one-armed hug.  He spotted you, and his eyes lit up.  He also spotted the bandages enclosing your arm.

As you were about to launch yourself on top of him, he grabbed you roughly by the shoulders, shoving his face uncomfortably close to yours.

“How the hell did this happen?!” he barked, gesturing to your arm. 

You blinked.

“Are you confused as to how injuries are procured in the field?” you asked with a teasing grin.

“This isn’t a joke, idiot!” he snapped, shaking you roughly, and you snapped your lips shut.  “God, I lose track of you for an hour and you go and get your arm mauled!  How the hell did you even get that?!”

“I was saving a comrade,” you spat, your elation immediately being replaced with sizzling irritation.  “One of the Titan’s teeth scraped me on the way out, it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?!” Jean cried incredulously, his brows lowering further.  “You could’ve had it bitten off!  The Titan could’ve lunged and torn your head off!  It could get infected, and _then_ you’ll have to get it chopped off!”

“I wasn’t alone, dumbass,” you retorted.  “It wasn’t like I just stuck my hand in a Titan’s mouth and pulled a guy out.  It was already dying when I saved the guy.”

“God, just – just stop saving people!  All it does is get you hurt!” he shouted, and the hands gripping your shoulders started to tremble. 

Your expression softened, as your eyes searched his drawn, anxious face.  He had been worried about you.  He had been so, so worried about you.  Even though he knew that you could more than take care of yourself, he still worried, wondered if the next time he saw you, you would be bitten in half.  You saw his lips quivering, his jaw working as he gnawed at the inside of his cheek, his eyes filled with concern.

“Missed you too, Horseface,” you said, and wrapped your arms around him.  Well, one arm, to be more precise. 

You heard his breath hitch and stutter in his chest, and then he was crushing you to him, his arms carefully avoiding your injured one, his fingers digging into your skin.  You pressed into him tighter,breathing in his warm, comforting scent as he buried his trembling face into your neck.  You felt his breath whistle across your skin, shaky and uneven, and you told yourself not to cry.

You were a soldier, you were in public, and you knew for a fact that you were being looked at.  You resolved to find him, when this day was over, corner him behind a building and scream and wail into his chest.  Because god, did you just need to scream your lungs out until your throat became so sore that you couldn’t, you wanted to cry until you ran out of tears, you wanted to hold the one person you loved in your arms, and release all of the emotions bottled up inside of you.

What a cruel thing it is, to love in a warzone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! god i love writing jean  
> next chapter will be up in a week! :)
> 
> if you have any prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	12. The Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is kinda late! my dog got into a collision with a dirtbike yesterday, and i spent three hours at the animal hospital, then spent most of yesterday and today taking care of her. (she's fine, don't worry! she just sprained the ankle of her right front paw, so she can't move around much) so i'm really sorry if this chapter is bad! i wrote it really fast, so i could keep my promise of uploading every saturday.  
> hope you enjoy! :)

Another day passed, and Marco was nowhere to be found.

You tried to convince yourself that it was nothing.  He was probably just busy, grabbed dinner after the majority of the soldiers had left, was always conveniently placed on different cleanup squads than you.  You reasoned desperately with yourself, that night as you crashed onto your bunk, your forearm draped over your eyes, that he was still alive somewhere.

Because he had promised.

But you forgot all about Marco, all about your anxiety, all about everything, in fact, when you got out there.

In short, it was hell.

When you were on 3dmg, you could just fly by the bodies, cast them only a fleeting glance, and shove them out of your mind.  But your feet were on solid ground now, and they were all too close, all too real.  You walked through the streets, hauling bodies and their remnants up onto carts drawn by soldiers with gaunt, haunted eyes.  The cloth tied around your face did nothing to hinder the smell, that awful smell of day-old bodies rotting in the sunlight.  You would never forget it.  

You hated the way they lolled in your arms, as if their limbs had never moved at all, as if there had never been a thought encased in that skull.  You almost found it hard to believe that you were there, alive, breathing, thinking, moving, when these people were not.  It was funny, really.

And so you hauled them, body after body, collecting the arms and legs and heads strewn around, brushing soot from cold, too cold faces and trying to identify them.  

You knew a few of them.

Well, had known.

And you felt hot tears stinging at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, refused to show weakness.  Contamination of the area was highly possible at the moment; the bodies had to go, you had to do your job.  

The Titan vomit was the worst, though.  

They were just large crystals, sitting in the middle of the streets, against buildings, and inside them were countless bodies, their mouths open in silent screams, their faces bloody, sometimes missing entirely, or torn to shreds.  The Titans didn’t even have the goddamn dignity to digest what they devoured.  Instead, they just hurled it all up, in a foul-smelling heap of flesh, as if to gloat, as if to say, look, look, look at how we shame you.

The soldiers around the clusters tried in vain to break through the crystal, but the picks and swords they used either glanced off harmlessly, or shattered in their grip.  So they burned it, instead.

You would never forget the smell of burning flesh, either.

The air was thick and heavy with the smell of it, the smell of death.  It choked you, made you want to rip the handkerchief away from your face, but you couldn’t, you would get sick, you would contaminate others, you would endanger humanity.

Nowadays, everything was a danger to humanity.

As you hoisted a body onto your back, shivering as their limp arm lolled against yours, you looked up, sweat running into your eyes (it was hot, so hot, it made the smell even worse) and into the face of Annie Leonhardt.

It was truly terrifying.

Not in the way she was,  but the way she wasn’t.  Her eyes were empty, hollow, every spark of ferocity they had possessed extinguished into nonexistence.  Her hands hung loosely at her sides, her arms covered in blood up to the elbow, as if she had just performed major abdominal surgery.  Her head was low, her sweaty bangs sticking to her forehead, her handkerchief hanging away from her face, around her neck, her lips moving rapidly, silently.

“Annie,” you croaked out, your voice cracked and broken, muffled by the cloth over your mouth.

Her head snapped up with lightning speed, her eyes boring into yours, and then they flicked to the body on your back.

And it was as if everything inside of Annie Leonhardt crumbled in that moment.  She stared, unblinking, at the body, her lips pausing their movement, her whole frame shaking.  It was as if the weight of the world had been dumped on her shoulders, as if at any second it would become too much and she would be flattened against the cobblestones.

She looked into your eyes, then, and you felt a jolt run through you.  They were so broken, so lost, filled with something that you knew you could never possibly comprehend.

And then, her dry, cracked lips parted, and she whispered, “I’m sorry.”  She kept whispering it, again and again, a volley of sorrys spewed into the air like she was trying to rid herself of them, as her hands clenched into  fists at her sides.

You blinked at her confusedly.  What was she talking about?  Sorry?  Sorry for what?  However, you couldn’t get your lips to form the words, your throat was too clogged, your lips too dry, the body on your back too heavy.

So instead, you lightly touched her shoulder, a mere brush of the fingertips, and yet that simple contact made her jump as if you had pricked her, her shoulders rising like hackles on a wild dog as she stared at you with wild, animalistic eyes.

Your hand was still hanging there, in the air, your fingertips extended, and you let it slowly drop to your side, and you found yourself saying, “I’m sorry, too.”

She looked taken aback, her icy, empty eyes disappearing behind pale, pale lids as she blinked at you.  

And then she turned on her heel, and stalked away, towards Reiner and Bertholdt, who were standing a safe distance away, bodies slung over both of their backs.  Her shoulders were shaking.

And you never quite figured out what you were sorry for.

* * *

They burned.

Day and night, they burned, funeral pyres reaching so high into the sky that you thought they would scorch the stars themselves.  Indeed, the sparks careening off of the roiling flames seemed to become one with the sky itself, and you entertained a brief fantasy that those were the souls of the dead, flying up to a better place.

But you were a soldier.

Soldiers couldn’t afford to think like that.

You idly searched for Jean as you piled body after body on the fire, as you watched the flesh slowly crisp and melt away from the bones, and then the bones themselves splinter and disintegrate into nothingness.  But there were two many people, too many bodies, too many broken, cracked forms shifting around you.

The smell of charred meat was thick in the air, weighing down your shoulders and buckling your knees.  You coughed feebly, but there was nothing to cough out, there was just the stench, swirling around you and inside you so feverishly that you wanted to scream.  

God, there was so much death.

There were just so many of them, more brought in by the second, twisted and mangled and bitten into, and you knew that one day that would be you.  It was not a possibility, but a certainty.

And somehow, you were not afraid.

And that, in itself, frightened you.

You were tired.  Tired of the weight of a body on your back, tired of the heat from the fires searing your face as you threw them in, tired of the snapping sound of bones splintering in the flames, tired of the dead eyes around you, tired of the emptiness echoing inside of you.

You just wanted your friends, you realized with a gulp, you wanted your friends, Jean, Marco, Ymir, Christa, Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Connie, Sasha, you wanted to laugh and eat and joke with them in the mess hall and get into trouble with Shadis and spar in the yard and you wanted to go _back_.  

You were just a kid.

Just a kid, a kid roughly bumped by the rolling ball of war, a kid already used to blood and entrails, a kid accustomed to watching their comrades die in front of them.

It all welled up inside of you then, that this was too much too much too _much_ \-- and you wanted to yell, to be sick, to close your eyes and block your ears and forget forget forget about everything.

But as your arms, moving with a mechanical rhythm, loaded the next body onto your back, and as your feet turned themselves toward the columns of smoke in the distance, you knew, that it would always, always, be there.  

And it waited, biding its time, until you were happy, smiling, before wiping it off of your face with a sick satisfaction.  It was always there, giant jaws waiting to swallow you, death waiting to choke you, blood waiting to stain your hands and face and soul.  And you weren’t aware of the blood caking your arms, your face, your legs, as you stood numbly in front of the funeral pyre, watching the bodies burn, not truly seeing them, seeing nothing, nothing at all.

But you felt it.  You felt the cold crawling into your bones, coiling its way into your skull, pulsing through your bloodstream.  You felt cold blackness weighing behind your eyelids, waiting for you to shut them so it could attack, so it could torment you with images of your friends and comrades being slaughtered, in slow motion, in front of your very eyes.  You always saw the blood, always heard the screams, always felt your soul ripping itself to shreds and withering inside of you, you always felt the exact moment when you shattered.

And then it was gone.

You stood up, slowly, to see Jean trudging towards you, his eyes dull, lifeless, as if he were a corpse himself, his face and hands bloody, his face streaked with soot and grime.

“Jean,” you wheezed.  “Jean.  Marco.  Marco.  Where’s Marco?”

He shook his head, his shoulders shaking.

Your memory was fuzzy after that.

You remember your knees hitting the pavement, your hands burying themselves in your hair, your lips clamped shut, because you were determined, you would not make a sound you would not make a sound you would not make a single fucking _sound_ \--

You don’t know how you got out of there.  You don’t know how you made it back to the barracks.  You don’t know who peeled the blood soaked clothes away from your body and sat you in the bathroom, with a bar of soap and a towel.  

Maybe it was you.  You hoped so. You wanted to be the only one to pick up your pieces, because you had been cut too many times on the jagged edges to care anymore.  

You remember screaming.  Wailing.  You remember scrubbing furiously at the blood, tears streaming down your face, watching the life force of your comrades and friends swirling down the drain, and crying harder.  You remember tearing at your skin with your hands until your blood was indistinguishable from the others’, you remember burying your face in your hands and sobbing as blood dripped down your arms and onto the white tile of the cold cold _cold god why is it so cold_ bathroom floor.  

You crawled into your bunk that night, arms freshly bandaged by your own fumbling, exhausted fingers.  They were holding a final ceremony by the funeral pyres.  Words were being said.  Tears shed.  Promises made.  Last words exchanged.

You wondered what his last words had been.  How he had died.

You hadn’t even seen him.

It wasn’t just Marco that plagued you.  No, you two hadn’t been all that close, not as close as you and Jean.  He was just always there, a sage presence, the only one brave enough to separate you and Horseface when you fought, the one who always had a smile on his face, who was always happy, optimistic, cheerful, supportive.  He was like the warm light of a lantern, you thought, warm and comforting and showering you in a warm glow that you were so sure, so positive, would never fade, never go out, never leave you scrambling for purchase as you fell backwards into the darkness.

But, oh, how easily lanterns are blown out.

And everyone else, everyone that you had known, trained with, eaten with, fought with, laughed with, it was as if none of it had ever happened.  As if they had never existed at all.  And now the only thing left tethering them to this earth were a few memories, a few glances, a few smiles.  They were no more than memories now, just wisps of smoke, faces you would soon have trouble recalling, voices you would strain to remember.  

And so you curled up in your bunk, alone, blissfully, awfully, alone, leaning back against your headboard, your knees drawn into your chest, your arms around them, your whole body shaking as if you were a leaf quivering on a breeze.  God, you hoped you would blow away.

You hadn’t expected anyone to come looking for you.  You hadn’t expected the sliver of orange light to sprout then widen across the floorboards, hadn’t expected the smell of death to waft in the room, accompanied by something else, something you knew, but your stomach reacted so violently to the stench that you barely noticed it.

“Close it!” you shrieked, burrowing deeper into yourself, trying to escape from the smell, the death, the cold.

The orange sliver of light thinned, then disappeared entirely, and slow, dragging footsteps shuffled toward your bunk.  You were too exhausted and distraught and panicked to care, you buried your face in your knees and hoped this would make them go away.

Yet the footsteps continued, coming to a stop next to your bunk, and you felt a weight slump onto the bed by your feet.

“What did you do?”

Soft fingers brushed against the bandages against your arms, and you flinched.

“Nothing,” you spat, looking up into red, swollen, tear-stained amber eyes.  “I fell.”

“[First],” he croaked.

“Don’t,” you choked out, your fingernails digging into your skin.

His fingers were gentle yet prying, peeling you away from yourself, and you recoiled ferociously, twisting in his grip, but it was like iron.

“Don’t don’t don’t don’t,” you sobbed, your stomach convulsing, as he began to reel you in.  “Don’t don’t don’t don’t _don’t I don’t deserve it I don’t I don’t I don’t --”_

He crushed you to his chest, selfishly, his arms like vices around your abdomen, his body shaking against yours as he buried his head in your shoulder and heaved and sobbed into your shirt.

And you realized, you were not hurting half as much as he was.  Marco had been his best friend, his constant companion, the one Jean trusted, liked, and respected the most.

And honestly, you had never felt that kind of loss.  Your loss was always subtle, grinding, the type of loss that piled itself on your shoulders with the rest and slowly weighed you down as you struggled forward.  It was never momentous, heart-reaving, world-shattering.  It just shattered you, and you alone, and you had never even taken the brunt of the hit.

You choked on your weakness, your cowardice, as your arms returned the embrace, your tears dotting his shirt as you both sobbed into each other.  His fingers carved into your back, holding you tight, as if a simple breath of air would take you away from him to.

And you wanted to say it.

You wanted to sob it into his shoulder and press it into his tear-soaked cheeks and kiss it into his mouth, you wanted to give him everything you had, just to get it away.  You were being selfish, horrible, wanting to dump yourself onto someone else, but life is selfish and horrible, and so is love.

But you couldn’t.  The smell was too thick, the air too heavy, your chest too tight, your throat too dry.  The tears he was dripping onto your skin were too wretched, too despairing, too mournful for love.  He could not love you.  He could never love you.  He had too many things inside of him already, too much emotion to hold any of yours, too many memories and grievances and losses to accommodate more.  And you, too, were brimming, with despair and loneliness and all the bodies on your back.

How could you love, like this?  How could you offer your soul when you didn’t have any left?

“I’m going,” he choked out, suddenly, his stuttered breaths fluttering over your skin.  “The Scouting Legion.  I’m going to the Scouting Legion.”

You froze.

No

No no no no no no no no _no no no_.

He couldn’t end up like you.  He had a future, potential, a dream, he had places to go, he had a life to live, people to meet, an early death to avoid.

But all you could choke out was “Why.”

“For Marco,” he mumbled.  “I have to fight . . . so he won’t . . . be disappointed in me.”

“Please,” you whispered, your fingers curling in his copper-blond hair.  “Don’t.  I can’t . . . not you . . . not you too . . . please.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

* * *

The next few days were a blur.  You just worked, and worked, your arms stinging, your eyes dull, your movements robotic.  You didn’t talk to anyone, you barely ate, you barely slept.  

No, you realized, it wasn’t just Marco.

It was everything.  

It was the deaths, the screams of people who had lost, the smell, the dying smoke of the pyres, the spots of blood dotting the city, the Walls looming above you, the Titans beyond.

You were supposed to choose your branch soon.

Jean still didn’t know.

* * *

No one knew where Eren was.  Mikasa and Armin had been shipped off by the Military Police, for questioning they said, but they wouldn’t say where, they wouldn’t say why.  

Trost was mostly cleaned up.  The residents started to file back in, masses of tired, hungry people who tried to ignore the bloodstains on their front doors.  Jean was gone for a few days, to visit with his family.  You missed his warmth.  

After a week, you forgot what Marco’s voice had sounded like.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't nearly as painful as i wanted to be, i churned this whole thing out at 2am last night. hope you still enjoyed anyway! the next update will be earlier, since my dog will be better by then. see you next saturday! :)
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	13. The Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL all i can say is that after 12 chapters i finally got around to it  
> i think you know exactly what i mean

All anyone could talk about was Eren.  He was being tried as they spoke, they said.  The Military Police were going to take him into custody and dissect him, they said.  The very thought made you sick, and you vehemently avoided all discussion and thought of Eren from that point onward.  

The disposal operation was still ongoing, the Shiganshina trio was nowhere to be seen, and there was no longer anyone to smile at you when you entered the mess hall in the mornings.

There was, naturally, a debate raging amongst the soldiers, concerning whether or not Eren should be allowed to live.  To you, there was a simple answer.  Eren had saved you, had saved everyone.  It didn’t matter what he was, it only mattered that he would help humanity.  You didn’t care how he became a shifter, didn’t care what his ‘intentions’ were, didn’t care that he was able to transform into humanity’s greatest enemy.  You knew Eren.  You knew that the only thing he wanted was to kill Titans, and that was enough for you.  

But for Jean, whether out of some deep grudge or similar grievance, the issue was much more complicated.  He constantly cycled between ‘Eren is a monster’ and ‘Eren saved us all.’  It annoyed you to no end, to be honest.  

Like one afternoon, when the team you and Jean had been placed on had been given the day off, you and him were sitting outside, leaning against the back of the mess hall, and you absentmindedly wondered what they were doing with Eren.

“Who knows,” Jean grumbled back, working a rag vigorously across one of his blades.  “Maybe they’re doing experiments on him.”

“You sound almost hopeful,” you snorted, as you lazily cleaned in between the blades of the gas fan.  

“Well, it’d be nice to know what he is.  Whether he’s a human, or a Titan or just . . . a monster,” Jean responded, lifting the blade up for inspection and staring shrewdly at his reflection in the gleaming metal surface.  “I used to think he was the most human out of all of us . . . but now . . . I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said quietly, your hands still robotically working the rag around the fan blades.  “He saved us . . . he saved _humanity_.  As long as he’s going to help us, it doesn’t matter.”  

“Doesn’t matter?!” Jean spluttered, his blade falling from his hands.  “For all we know, he could be a -- I don’t know -- a Titan in disguise, trying to destroy humanity from the inside.  All I know is that he’s a monster, a monster who tried to kill Mikasa.”

Your hands came to a sudden stop, clenching your gear so tightly your knuckles turned white.  Your brows drew together, and your teeth started a rhythmic grind.  Mikasa was always the deciding factor, wasn’t she?  If Eren had hit anyone else, Jean wouldn’t be nearly so worked up about it.  But because he had hit Mikasa, the perfect and goddess-like Mikasa, it was suddenly a capital offense.  

“He’s no different than us,” you said so softly that your voice was almost carried away by the breeze.  “We’re all monsters.  Every single one of us.  Even me.  Even your precious Mikasa.”  The last part wasn’t entirely necessary, but you had said it before you could stop yourself.

“That’s not true,” he snapped, and your stomach twisted.  Of course.  “You couldn’t . . . you could never be a monster.”

In spite of yourself, your heart leaped into your throat.  

“How do you know?” you laughed dryly, your hands resuming their work.  

“Well, for one,” he said, and you heard the ever-familiar Jean Kirschtein smirk, “I’ve never seen a monster cry.”

You whirled around, your cheeks flaming, and hurled the rag you were holding at his head.  He dodged, laughing, and you stood up with a huff, retrieved your rag from behind him, and gave the back of his skull a nice karate chop on your way back.  

As he howled, clutching the back of his skull and wailing that you had given him a concussion (which, as you of course knew, was almost impossible from a blow to the back of the head), you resumed cleaning your gear, all the while thinking of his words.  You weren’t a monster, huh?  You almost scoffed aloud.  You had done more than enough things to permanently dirty your hands.  But he didn’t have to know that.  

* * *

A day later, the two Titans the Scouting Legion had captured for experimentation were killed.

There was immediate panic, as the officials scrambled to round up the trainees and bring them in for questioning.  Imagine, there being a penalty for killing Titans.  But these two had been important research subjects, and their death meant yet another setback for mankind.  

Officials lined up all of the trainees in the mess hall, and ordered them to set their gear forth for inspection.  They questioned you, asked you when you had last used it, when  you had last replaced the shafts, and so on.  Two officials slowly moved down the lines of trainees, questioning each individual.  None of you were allowed to leave until they had finished their questioning.

And to top it all off, this was supposed to be the day you were to pick what branch you were going into.

You still hadn’t told him.  You had skirted around the subject whenever it came up, which proved to be much harder to do as the fateful day drew closer.  You eventually just refused to speak about the subject entirely, rerouting the conversation as best you could.  As Eren’s trial had drawn nearer, usually just the mention of his name was enough to change the subject.  

The officials finished their inspection, finding that not one trainee had used their gear without authorization.  

And it was then that the news broke.  Eren was being handed over to the Scouting Legion.

To be completely honest, you had forgotten about Eren’s trial, about the fact that his life had been hanging in the balance for the last couple of hours.  Maybe through some hidden prophetic wisdom, you had known all along that he would be fine.  But it was much more likely that you were too selfishly wrapped up in your own grief to care.  You decided that you didn’t care how selfish it was.  The only way to survive was to be selfish.  

Then, it was time.  

The trainees were shepherded into the largest space they could find in the camp, a small almost court-yard like area in the midst of the solemn stone buildings.  Connie, Sasha, Armin, and Annie were leaning up against one of the buildings encircling the courtyard, all except Annie looking grim. The officials hadn’t yet called for the trainees to line up, and everyone was just milling around, chatting quietly. Connie was sitting on the ground, arms draped over his knees, Sasha was leaning stiffly against the wall, hands behind her back, Armin had his arms crossed in front of him, and Annie was standing as rigidly as she always did, hands clasped in front of her.  As you and Jean trudged over, Sasha looked up, catching your eye, and then flicking her gaze to Jean.

“Jean,” she said, simply, and he looked up, blinking at her.  There was silence for a minute as Sasha seemed to be searching for words to say.  “Jean, why did you suddenly decide to join the Scouting Legion?  Weren’t you . . . scared?”  You mentally thanked Sasha for always being more willing to say the things you couldn’t.

“Huh?” Jean scoffed, placing his hands on his hips.  “Obviously, I’m still not exactly a fan of the Scouts.”

“Then why did you . . .?” Connie asked, looking up, his eyes dull.  You snapped to attention.  You hadn’t yet heard why Jean had decided to join the Scouting Legion, or rather, you had been too afraid to ask.  You had a bad habit of coping with your grief by shoving all mention or thought of it as far away from yourself as possible.

“It’s not like I’m joining the Scouts ‘cause I’ve no fear of Titans,” Jean responded with an irritated tch.  “And you won’t hear things like ‘if you’re a capable soldier, you have a responsibility to join the Scouting Legion’ from me, either. Listen, you guys, I’ll repeat this again: don’t lump me together with dumbasses like Eren who’re eager to rush to their death, got it?”  He pointed vigorously to himself as he said this, and you rolled your eyes.

“Soldiers in training!” came a shout from the front of the field.  “Line up and proceed to the front of the drill field!”

“And it’s not like,” Jean went on, totally disregarding the summons, “I gave into someone’s persuasion to put my life on the line.  In this line of work you can’t get along without making decisions for yourself.”

You sighed, and nudged his arm to get his attention.  You nodded to the front of the field, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.  Side by side, the two of you strode toward your fate.

* * *

They lined you up in military straight lines in front of a hastily constructed stage built against the back of the mens’ barracks.  A man with golden hair falling over a dark brown undercut stood on the stage, hands clasped behind his back, looking as stoic and regal as could be.  He had startling blue eyes, chiseled features, and an impressive musculature. The officials stationed around the group of trainees signaled for quiet, and a tense hush fell over the crowd.  

“I’m the commander of the Scouting Legion, Erwin Smith,” the man on the stage said brusquely, his voice ringing throughout the courtyard.  A ripple went through the crowd.  The commander of the Scouting Legion?  You supposed this was one way to encourage people to join, get up on a stage and challenge them in front of their peers.  What a militaristic thing to do, you thought.  “The Scouting Legion has an important objective behind its activities, entrusted to us by the King.  The purpose of my speech to you on this day when you are to choose the division you will join is none other than inviting you to join the Scouting Legion.  However, because of the Titans’ attack the other day, all of you here have already had a taste of what scouting outside the Walls may be like.  Despite the fact that you all are still trainees, you have already suffered victims in your ranks, and that in itself is unprecedented.  And also, you have already experienced the dread that the Titans instigate in humans . . . as well as the limit of your own power. . . .  But still . . . we suffered many victims in that attack, yes, but at the same time we’ve made progress, unseen before, towards mankind’s victory.  As you all have already guessed, I’m talking about Eren Jaeger. Thanks to his and your efforts we’ve succeeded in preventing the advance of Titans, and we’ve acquired a means to uncover the Titans’ true nature.  There’s still little regarding him that I can tell you here.  But I assure you, there’s no doubt that he’s on our side, risking his life for our common cause.  We assume that the answers to the mystery surrounding him will be found in the basement of his house, in his hometown Shiganshina.”  

The crowd stirred restlessly.  Shiganshina?  Across the wide expanse of Wall Maria, _Titan-infested_ Wall Maria, to the district that was until five years ago the southernmost point of humanity’s territory?  

“If we manage to reach that basement,” Erwin Smith continued, “it’s likely we’ll be able to find a way to put a stop to the century of living under the Titans’ rule.”  

“Basement, huh . . .,” you heard Reiner grumble from in front of you, and you shifted nervously.  There was hopeful muttering all around you, people commending the progress humanity had made, expressing optimism about how close mankind was to figuring out the Titans.  You stayed silent, your jaw clenched, staring intently up at the man on the stage. What was he up to?

“However,” Erwin Smith resumed, “in order to take our time to thoroughly investigate that one basement, we will need to get Wall Maria back under our control first.  Our objective is what I just stated, but now that we can’t use the Gate of the Trost District anymore, we only have the option of departing from the Karanese District and advancing to Shiganshina in a roundabout way.  The path, suitable for a large force, that took us four years to break, is now lost.  In those four years over 90 percent of the Scouting Legion members died.  90 percent in just four years.”  There it was.  A collective sharp intake of breath swept through the trainees, and you saw nervous glances being exchanged, heard feet nervously shifting from side to side.  “According to our most optimistic estimates, we’ll  have to sacrifice at least five times more soldiers and 20 more years before it will be possible to dispatch a large force to Wall Maria again.  And even these figures aren’t quite realistic.”  

Utter silence fell.

“The Scouting Legion is always in search of talented members.  With great losses after every mission, we constantly suffer from personnel shortage. I’m not going to hide anything from you.  Those of you who will choose to join the Legion will have to participate in a scouting expedition outside the Walls one month from now.”  Your stomach did a flip.  That soon?!  “There’s a pressing need to break a supply route.  The probability of new recruits dying during an expedition to the outer lands was 50 percent, I think.  Those who manage to survive it, though, will become excellent soldiers with a high survival rate.  Those of you who are still willing to put your life on the line despite learning about the dreadful state of affairs, stay here.  And let me reiterate this again: most of those who will decide to stay here and enter the Scouting Legion will probably be dead soon.  Listen to your heart very closely and ask yourselves if you really have got what it takes to sacrifice your life for mankind.  That’s all.  Those wanting to join the other divisions, dismissed.”

Half of the group walked away immediately.  You heard someone frantically speaking to the Commander from somewhere behind the stage, but his gaze was trained forward, watching the trainees walk away.

Your heart was pounding in your chest.  There was a high chance you would be dead soon.  You might die in a month.  You started to tremble, but your feet stayed firmly planted where they were, as you heard all the trainees brush by you, muttering about how you would have to be insane to stay put.

Yeah.  Insane was the word.  

Jean was staring fixedly at the ground, his shoulders shaking, his hands clenched into fists.  You saw the desire to run and hide on his face, to bolt as fast as he could in the opposite direction, to safety, to a life guaranteed more than a month from now.  

But he didn’t move.

Glancing around, you saw Connie, Sasha, Reiner, and Bertholdt standing where they were, glancing around nervously, clearly deciding whether or not they wanted to risk their lives.  

You inhaled deeply, trying to calm your racing heartbeat, but it was no use.  Your head was filled with visions of you being ripped to shreds, of Jean in a Titan’s mouth, of all your friend’s dying screams.  God, you were a coward, but your feet refused to move.

Jean seemed to finally register that someone was standing next to him, and you heard him choke on his own spit as he looked at you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, and you slowly looked up at him.  He was mad, furious, but you found that you didn’t care at all.  “Get out of here!  You have a life to live!  You can’t . . . you can’t go and just -- just die like that!”  He was desperate, you saw, pleading.  Now he knew how you felt.  You cocked your head at him, and smiled wearily.  

His brows lowered even further, and he turned away from you with a huff.  

There were only a few left.  You saw Mikasa and Armin a few people down, and made a mental note to ask them how the trial went.

“So,” Erwin Smith’s voice came, and you looked up.  “Will you be able to go die if you’re told to?”

There was a unanimous chorus, “We do not want to die, sir!”

“I see,” Erwin Smith said with a grim smile.  “Everybody, you all look determined.  Alright!  I welcome everybody here to the Scouting Legion!  I salute your bravery!  Dedicate your lives to the cause!”  He saluted, slamming his fist into his chest, and the people still gathered saluted back with a chorus of “YESSIR!”

Sasha was crying, and everyone else except Mikasa was shaking.  You briefly reflected that these were the people you were most likely going to spend your last moments with.  

“Guys . . .,” Armin sighed weakly, his shoulders sinking.  

“Ah . . . shit . . .,” Jean grumbled.  “This is the worst. . . .  Dammit all. . . .  I’m really a damn Scout now. . . .”

“No . . .,” Sasha whimpered, tears streaming down her face.  “I’m scared . . . I want to go back to the village . . .”

“Whatever . . .,” Connie said shakily.  “I don’t care anymore, anyway.”

Reiner and Bertholdt were silent, Reiner’s brows drawn low, sweat rolling down his temples, and Bertholdt glancing nervously behind him, sweating bullets, as always.  Christa was struggling not to cry, but you could see the tears threatening to spill over.

“Geez, why’d you even stay if that put you on the verge of tears?” Ymir said to her irritably.  

“The Scouting Legion salutes all 21 of you,” Erwin Smith said, quieter than before, and his face was suddenly tired, worn out.  “You endured the fear well . . . you all are brave soldiers.  I respect you from the bottom of my heart.”

* * *

Jean cornered you after the ceremony, catching you behind the equipment shed, where you had gone to sit and think.  

You were sitting on the ground, hugging your knees to your chest, when you heard quick, angry footsteps, and scrambled up to see Jean striding around the building, straight for you, his hands clenched into fists, his brow furrowed, his gaze deadly.

“What -- the _hell_ \-- are -- you -- thinking?” he asked, punctuating each word with a shake of your shoulders.  

“What the hell are _you_ thinking?” you retorted, shoving him away.  “Whatever happened to saving your own hide?”

“ _My_ hide’s not worth saving,” he growled, and you flinched.  

“What, and you think mine is?” you asked softly, drawing away from him.  

“What are you, stupid?!” he snapped, getting right up in your face, his amber eyes boring into yours.  “You have a life to live, dumbass, people to meet, things to do --”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” you said grimly, refusing to break eye contact.  “This is my only shot at getting out.  I just want to get out of these Walls, I just want to get away from everything.  I would hate the Inner District, and you know it.”

“I don’t care!” he insisted.  “As you long as you get to survive, that’s all that matters!”

“I don’t want to survive, Jean,” you said exasperatedly, your patience wearing thin, “I want to _live_!”

“Living’s not the same thing as getting yourself killed!” he answered, and that was when you snapped.

With a growl, you grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him into the back wall of the equipment shed, your nails carving grooves into the leather, your gaze wild, determined.

“Listen,” you said roughly, giving him a shake.  “We both could die in a month and so I -- I just --”

And it was too soon, all too soon, the funeral pyres were still burning, the bones still splintering, you were still waking up in the middle of the night, tears streaming down your face, your bed sheets sticky with sweat as the vision of all the bodies reaching for you, blaming you, burned itself into your eyelids.  And you didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow, or even in the next few minutes, and you didn’t know if in two months you would still be breathing, and you didn’t care anymore.  You had to at least cross this off of the bucket list before you met your end between a pair of jaws.  

You were being selfish again, you were being childish, but god, did you just need to not worry about the bodies lining the streets, about the giant smiles looming over rooftops, about the blood and the death, all you wanted to worry about was the beating of your own heart in your chest and the pounding of your blood in your ears.  

And so you kissed him.

And it was beautiful and painful and everything and nothing you had imagined it to be.  You felt him stiffen, and it was as though everything inside of you twisted into itself, but you didn’t care, you just needed this one thing, this one thing before the possible end of your life.  

You ripped yourself away from him, abruptly releasing his jacket from your grip, your gaze trained on the ground.  You heard him stumble a bit as his feet took on all of his weight again,  but your back was already to him.  

“Sorry,” you gritted out, your hands clenched into fists, as you strode away from him.  

You knew that he liked Mikasa.  He liked Mikasa a lot.  Ever since the first time he saw her, he was in love with her black hair, her chiseled cheekbones, her dark eyes.  How could you possibly beat that?  You weren’t exceptionally beautiful, you weren’t exceptionally charming, you were absolutely nothing anyone would want.  You were loud, crass, rude, violent, short-tempered, hot-headed, and sarcastic as all shit.  How could he possibly return even a shred of your affection?

And that was when you heard the low growl of, “Hey!” erupt from behind you, when you felt hands with a grip like iron grab your arms and wrench you around, when you felt insistent, feverish kisses raining down on your lips.

His hands were gripping the sides of your face, his fingers pressing into your cheekbones, as if trying to memorize every contour.  Everything bubbled and burst with a desperate warmth in your chest, and your arms went around his neck, pulling him down to you, and you were kissing back just as fervently.  

Jean broke away from you, resting his forehead against yours, his whole body shaking.

“What’s with you, huh?” you asked, your voice cracking.

“You really suck, you know that?” he answered, glaring at you.  “Now I really, really don’t wanna die.”

“Then don’t,” you mumbled as you pushed your lips into his yet again.  “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

And, god, was it nice, just to lose yourself for a bit, to feel his lips pressing against yours with more affection than you could have ever hoped for.  He kept kissing you, repeatedly, insistently, desperately.  

Finally, he broke away and crushed you to his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck.  

“Fuckin’ dork,” you snorted.

“Hey!” he protested, his head shooting up, his gaze meeting yours.  “Who kissed who, again?”

“Shut up!” you snapped, flicking his forehead.  “Who was the one who kissed back, you idiot?”

“Who kept who waiting, idiot?!”

“What are you talking about, idiot?!”

“God, you’re dense,” he sighed irritably.

“Excuse me?!” you scoffed.  “You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag, dumbass!   _You_ kept _me_ waiting, what with your obsession with Mikasa!”

“THAT WAS A PHASE.”

“Pretty fuckin’ long phase, if you ask me!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“ _God_ , you’re irritating.”

“Then why’d you kiss me?!”

“Because --,” he snapped, his lips smashing to yours, “I like -- your stupid -- face.”  He punctuated each of these statements with a kiss, leaving you breathless and blinking.

“I like your stupid face, too,” you grumbled as he pulled away, your cheeks flushing.  

“I KNEW IT.”

“SHUT UP!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted a cute scene fight me  
> i'm having lots of emotions i need to lie down  
> i hope this makes up for the last chapter
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit
> 
> also: a few prompts i got are gonna be up soon, i just got back from vacation, so i'll finally have some time to work on them, sorry about the wait!


	14. Eleutheromania

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleutheromania: an intense and irresistible desire for freedom  
> welp i'm back to using fancy words in my titles  
> sorry not sorry  
> note: i have no idea how the fuckin formation in this chapter works so sorry if it sounds like reader is all over the place, i honestly have no fuckin idea how it's organized i read the chapter at least five times trying to figure it out

A day after the ceremony, the new recruits were shipped to the Scouting Legion’s main base, a modest castle near the edge of Wall Rose, completely surrounded by dense forest.  A Scouting Legion soldier led the new recruits around the castle, giving the grand tour of the place.  You were hanging at the back of the crowd as it loitered near a stone courtyard, with Mikasa, Armin, Connie, and Jean, when you heard a familiar voice shout, “Hey!”

Mikasa jumped a foot in the air and whipped around, her eyes shining, to see Eren rushing over to her, a grin stretched across his face.

“Eren!” Armin cried happily as he approached.  

“Feels like I haven’t seen you for ages, you know!” Eren said, relief evident on his face as he studied his two friends’ expressions.  

“Have they done anything terrible to you?” Mikasa suddenly piped up, grabbing his arm.  “Like examining your body’s every nook, or putting you under mental strain?”

“N-No . . .,” Eren responded bewilderedly, blinking at her.  “Nothing of the sort. . .”

“That irksome shortie was acting so high-and-mighty during the hearing. . .,” Mikasa continued, her gaze darkening.  “I’ll make sure to repay him in full someday . . .”

“You . . . you can’t mean Captain Levi, can you . . .?” Eren responded nervously.

At that moment, you jogged over to say hello, along with Connie, Reiner, Bertholdt, Christa, and Sasha.  

“Eren!” Connie called, flashing a grin.

“How ya been?” you asked, thumping him on the shoulder.

“You guys joined the Scouting Legion, too?!” he asked incredulously, his gaze flicking over everyone’s faces.  “So that means that the only ones to join the Military Police were Annie, Marco, and Jean?  And the rest went to the Stationary Troops, then. . .”

The good mood immediately dissipated at the mention of Marco, the grins sliding off of everyone’s faces.  You felt your stomach sink like a stone.  That was right, you remembered, Eren hadn’t been there, he’d been in custody, he didn’t know.

“Hm?” Eren asked, curiously studying your faces.

“Marco is dead,” came a voice, and you swiveled to see Jean striding over, his brows drawn low.

“Jean?!” Eren cried incredulously.  “What are you doing here?!  Ah, wait, what?” he added, shaking his head.  “Just now. . . What did you say just now?  That Marco is . . .” Jean’s gaze darkened further, and uneasiness fluttered in your chest as you slowly sidled over to him.  “. . .dead. . .?” Eren finished, his eyes going wide.  “I haven’t misheard you, have I. . .?”

“Not everyone can go out with a bang. . .,” Jean replied flatly.  “No one has any idea what kind of end he met . . . he didn’t get a chance to use his 3D Maneuver Gear either. . . .  He died in some place where no one saw him and no one knew.”

“Huh. . .,” Eren said softly, his gaze trained on the ground without really seeing it, his eyes suddenly hollow.  

“Eren,” Jean said curtly, and as Eren looked up, Jean stepped closer, getting right in his face.  “I hear you tried to kill Mikasa when you transformed into a Titan.  What the hell’s with that, huh?”

The crowd around you went deathly quiet, and you tugged on Jean’s sleeve, but he ignored you.

“He didn’t try to kill me,” Mikasa said curtly.  “He just wanted to swat a fly. . . .”

“You’re not the one I’m asking,” Jean replied, and she closed her lips with a slight frown.  “Mikasa, that wound on your face is pretty deep, yeah?” he asked, gesturing to his own cheek.  “When did you get that?”

Mikasa quickly grabbed a lock of hair to cover the scar, turning away as Eren stepped closer.  You gave Jean a nudge to the shin, but he shrugged you off.  Anger flared within you, but before you could verbally rip his head off, Eren spoke.

“Seems like it’s true about me trying to kill Mikasa after I transformed. . . .,” he said quietly, turning his gaze off to one side.

“‘Seems like’?  So you have no memories of that?” Jean retorted, crossing his arms.  “In other words, what we have is that you had no idea you had that ‘Titan power’ up until just recently, and you have no means to keep it under control.”

“Yes,” Eren said carefully, looking up.  “That sounds about right.”

The faces of the growing crowd around you darkened, and Jean looked down, his eyebrows drawn close together.

“You heard, guys?” Jean asked, his voice laced with anger, looking to the people around him.  “That’s what the present situation is, it seems.  That’s what our lives and humanity’s fate depend on.  That’s what we’ll die for, like Marco, while Eren won’t even know we’re dead.”

“Jean!” you barked, grabbing him by the back of his collar and dragging him backwards.  “Let it go!”

He writhed in your grip, but to no avail, you were about to drag him away when you heard Mikasa say, “Jean. . . .,” and you paused.  “What exactly are you trying to accomplish by abasing Eren here and now?”

With a frustrated sigh, you let go, and Jean stood back up, shooting you a menacing look before replying, “Look, Mikasa, not everyone here can just go die for Eren without getting anything in return like you, you know.  Both we and Eren need to know what we’ll be giving up our lives for.  If we don’t, we might start hesitating at the most crucial moment.  We’re seeking a kind of collateral from Eren.  Please, make sure to be very precise when weighing the worth of your own life against all those sacrificed for it.”  You crossed your arms.  Horseface had a point, you had to admit.  “That’s what I’m . . .,” Jean continued, striding toward Eren.

“Jean, you . . .,” Eren said, turning to face him.

“. . .really asking of you. . .,” Jean gritted out, placing both hands on Eren’s shoulders.  “Please. . . .!”

“I . . .,” Eren stammered, staring up into Jean’s desperate eyes.  “I will. . . .”

* * *

On the night before the expedition, you cornered Jean behind the supply shed, where he had been putting away his 3dmg after a long day of training.

You had dragged him behind the shed by the sleeve, and now had him against the wall, your hands gripping his collar.

“What’d I do now?” he grumbled, staring sullenly into your eyes, his arms limp at his sides.

A lump rose in your throat, and you gulped.  You sighed, and lowered your head, your hands slackening.

“Be careful . . . okay?” you said thickly, and you started to tremble.  “Tomorrow . . . just . . . come home, okay?”  

And with that you looked up, gaze desperate, and you kissed him.

This had become a regular occurrence.

The two of you would meet behind the barracks, behind the mess hall, in the laundry room, in the supply shed after the others had filed out.  You would just spend a minute or two, just the two of you, together, and that was all you needed.

Your hands twined around his neck, his around your waist, and he crushed you to him, eliciting a soft moan from the back of your throat.  He was intense, feverish, as always, attacking your tongue with his own (the two of you had long gotten past the simple lip-touching) as his thumbs rubbed circles in your lower back.

His lips abruptly left yours to instead trace along your jawline, and then settle on your neck, licking and sucking as he went.

“You’re gonna leave marks,” you whined, rolling your eyes.  “And I can’t just suddenly decide to wear a scarf tomorrow.”

He only hummed against your skin in reply, and you tsked as he continued his ministrations.

“I’ll leave them below the collar,” he murmured in your ear, his hands moving higher up your back.  “That way no one’ll see unless they’re looking.”

“We’re becoming kind of conspicuous, you know,” you sighed as his hands pressed into the curve of your back.  “Always sneaking off like this.”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, deftly moving aside your jacket and blouse to nip at your collarbone.

You moaned, your fingers raking down his back, and he ground his hips into yours, causing your volume to increase.

“Someone’s gonna hear!” you gasped as his hands flitted under your shirt, his fingertips ghosting across your abs.

He hummed, suddenly crashing his lips back to yours, his hands settling on your hips.  Growing frustrated with his antics, you slipped your hands under his collared shirt, and brushed your fingertips under the waistband of his trousers.  

He groaned, looking up at you in irritation.  You smiled impishly, and you could see him resolving to give you some more noticeable marks, when the curfew bell rang, a loud, clanging sound that resonated throughout the whole camp.  The two of you groaned simultaneously, breaking away from each other and straightening out your appearances.

As the two of you were about to separate, each going to the opposite side of the courtyard to your designated barracks, you stopped him, just for a second, and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

“Be safe,” you repeated, your eyes searching his.  

“I will,” he mumbled, a small smile quirking his lips before he turned away and strode off.

You desperately hoped he could keep his promise.

* * *

A month later, the gate of the Karanese district opened.

The long train of Scouting Legion soldiers wound almost the entire length of the small eastern district, comprised of supply wagons and hundreds of nervous soldiers.  You, naturally, had placed yourself next to Jean, somewhere towards the back of the procession (you were still not certain he could entirely take care of himself, and you worried about him, especially now that your relationship with him had deepened).  

You could feel the anxiety swirling through the air as the whole train of soldiers fidgeted, their horses’ hooves scraping the dirt, the wagon wheels creaking, the bags of supplies shifting, 3dmg clinking.  Commander Erwin and a woman who you didn’t know, with brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and glasses, were at the very front of the procession, standing mere feet from the giant gate.  

“Commander!  It’s time!” a soldier standing on top of the Wall suddenly shouted.  “Titans in the vicinity are being kept away!  30 seconds till the gate opens!”

“At last!” a soldier up front shouted, raising one of his blades into the air.  “Mankind is about to make another step forward!  Show the results of your training!  Open the gate!  The 57th expedition to the lands outside the Wall, start!  Advance!”

You tried to force your brain to shut down.  Tried to block out every single emotion you were feeling, so you could get the job done, so you could get through this expedition and get both you and Jean home in one piece.  You tried to think of your excitement, that you were finally going outside, that this was your chance at freedom.  But it was futile, anxiety surged through you like a giant wave, freezing up your bones and clogging your throat so much that you were finding it difficult to breathe.  Your hands were fidgety, twisting the ring on your finger, your knees tightening around the body of your horse, and the animal, sensing your growing panic, pawed at the ground and tossed its head.  You tried to calm it with soothing words, but it continued to prance around nervously, its nickering steadily growing in volume.  

But before you could figure out how to control your panicking horse, the gate was open.

The procession burst forth like water from a dam, the clattering of horse hooves in the dirt driving all other thought from your head.  Even though your eardrums ached with the sudden sound, you were thankful.

You urged your horse forward with a quick snap of the reins, and with Jean by your side, you went outside the Walls.

And god, did it hit you hard in that moment.  

You were free.

_Free_.

But your excitement was cut short, soon, all too soon.  The abandoned buildings of Wall Maria soon loomed into view, and the procession cut right through the tiny hamlet.  You imagined how many people had once lived here, had looked up at the top of Wall Rose, stood happily in its shadow and remarked how there would always, always be peace, forever more, for what Titan could break down these Walls?

And then, from the front of the procession, you heard a yell, “10 METER CLASS, APPROACHING FROM THE LEFT!”

You could see the giant head, bobbing above the dilapidated rooftops, coming all too quickly toward the formation.  You heard yelling up where the Titan was, and glimpsed tiny black figures swinging around it, fountains of red blood spurting forth as the soldiers hacked at the giant’s body.  

“Advance!” someone yelled from up front, as you saw the Titan’s head dip below the rooftops, heard the crash as it collided with the ground.

“ADVANCE!”

* * *

As the last of the procession passed through the hamlet, and emerged onto wide, sprawling plains, you realized with a gulp that you were know out of the range of the defense squad.  If any Titans came along, it would be your duty to deal with it.  You went over the expedition plan in your head for the fiftieth time, but all thought was cut short as you looked up, as you usually did when you were thinking deeply.  

Because it was the sky, and all anxiety was suddenly torn from your brain as you stared up at the blue, blue sky, no longer sliced into cookie cutter shapes by jagged rooftops, but unbroken, curving overhead and around you, only kissing the ground in the far off distance.  A breath of wonder escaped your lips, and joy rose in your chest like a trembling note plucked from a harp, spreading through your chest and up through your cheeks.  You threw your head back, and took a gulp of the fresh air.  Tears sprang to your eyes, and you laughed.

You, who had spent your whole life slinking through desolate cities, sleeping in alleyways, vandalizing food carts, you who had spent more than a few years underground, where the only sunlight you got was the slanted bars that filtered through the storm drains high up above, you had gotten outside.  

“What’s with you?” Jean grumbled, steering his horse closer to yours.  “It’s just the goddamn sky.”

You looked over at him, but not even his routine sourness could curb your mood.  You merely grinned, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes, and you saw his eyes widen, and a fiery blush spread over his cheeks.

Before you could respond, you heard the order to separate into the formation ring through the air, and reality came at you fast and hard.  It was as if you had been punched in the chest.  

_Right_ , you thought grimly, your exuberant grin gone, replaced with an anxious frown.   _The formation_.

A Scouting Legion veteran had gone over the formation with the new recruits, one that Commander Erwin himself had devised.  It was a roughly diamond shaped formation, comprised of squads set in straight lines.  The supply carts had been placed in the very center, for maximum protection, along with the Special Ops squad, which consisted of Captain Levi, four other elite soldiers, and Eren.  The mission, the veteran had explained countless times, was merely short-distance.  It’s sole purpose was to be a trial for the real thing, the one that was going to deliver Eren to Wall Maria.  The objective was nothing more than to go outside the Walls and come back alive.  

The people around you started splitting off into groups, according to the ones they had been assigned a few weeks ago.  You still remembered the words of the instructor, a man with a white scarf covering his head, by the name of Ness, “ _It’s a kind of long distance formation, semicircular in its front part, where participating soldiers are set apart at such an interval that ensures they can see in all directions.  It allows us to widen the enemy detection range as much as possible.  You new recruits will be here, between the cart convoy squad and the enemy detection backup squad.  You are to lead our spare horses and be on relay duty.”_

You were placed on Line 2 File 2, while Jean was placed on Line 3 File 4.  You shot him a quick look and mouthed “Be safe,” as he rode off, and he nodded grimly, briefly locking eyes with you.  You turned away as you were handed a spare horses reins, and you galloped off along the path you had spent weeks memorizing.  

“ _Mainly, it’s the soldiers of the outermost line that come into close proximity to Titans.  Upon discovering a Titan in sight, they fire a red smoke signal bomb._ ”

As you were riding along, completely and utterly alone, trying to steer your horse with one hand and the spare with the other, you heard a crack in the distance, and looked up to see a red flare curving through the air.  

“ _Once you see a smoke signal, you are to fire your own smoke bomb, too, to let the others know about the threat.  That way, Commander Erwin, who leads the formation, will know the position of the Titan threat in the least amount of time.”_

You tied the spare horse’s reins to your saddle with fumbling fingers, rummaged in your saddlebags for the flare gun and a red capsule, which you quickly put together, covered an ear with one hand, and shot the red flare off into the sky.  

“ _He then fires a green signal bomb to indicate that the entire formation is about to change course and point the new direction.  In order to let all the members of the formation know the new course everybody is to fire their own green smoke signals while heading in the new direction.”_

You watched a few more red flares were shoot up around you, as you grabbed a green capsule from your bag.  You saw a green flare shoot off in the distance, way out at the front of the formation, and numerous cracks were heard as you and everyone around you set their green flares off to the left as well.  You placed the flare gun in your lap with a sigh, retaking the reins of your horse.  This damn formation was complicated as all hell, but if it saved a few more lives, it was worth it.

“ _This tactic allows us to advance to our destination while avoiding Titans.  Your typical Titan is no match for horses at long distance racing.  When a Titan exhausts its stamina, its movements become duller, though that depends on the individual.  However, things don’t go so smoothly every time.  There are also Titans that can run faster than horses for a short time, or the enemy may be detected too late due to the landscape peculiarities or other obstacles. . . .  There are cases when Titans force their way inside the formation as well, which may tear the formation apart or even entirely destroy it.  If that happens, havoc may ensue.”_

You gulped, scanning the terrain around you with anxious eyes, the instructor’s words ringing in your head.

Suddenly, up in front of you, a great clamor arose, and you bolted upright, your eyes widening as you took in the scene of a Titan, crawling on all fours, chasing a soldier straight to the center of the formation.  

“Shit!” you hissed, fumbling for a red flare cartridge and clumsily shooting it into the air.  You saw another flare shoot up ahead of you, and soon red flares were bursting all across the plains, but it was far too late, the Titan hadn’t been noticed in time.  

As you galloped closer, determined to help, you saw the soldier the Titan was chasing.  

It was Sasha.

Your heart leaped into your throat as you saw the Titan lunge for her, missing her by a foot at most, and you urged both horses to greater speeds, trees and bushes whipping by as you shot forward like an arrow.

Two other soldiers had come to her aid, one of them calling, “Sasha, this way!  Head our way!”

Sasha jerked her horse around as the Titan lunged for her again, galloping in your direction. The two soldiers galloped to the left, towards the edge of the formation, drawing the Titan’s attention with them.   Sasha came to a slow stop, breathing hard.  You were about to go over to her, when her squad leader trotted over, said a few words, and they both galloped in opposite directions.  

Huffing with frustration, you turned your horses back the way you were assigned, your heart still thumping from the sudden attack.  

“ _But remember, all the methods I just described apply only for those Titans whose behavior is easily predictable, the so-called ‘typical class._ ’”

You continued on your trek, and as you were cantering past a particularly flat area, you saw a giant footprint stamped in the dirt, just a single one, as if a Titan had jumped into the air on one leg.  You drew up a mental picture of the formation in your head, and your blood ran cold.  

It was pointed straight towards the center.

As you were fumbling in your saddlebags, you heard a crack, and as you looked up, you saw a thin column of black smoke coiling through the sky.  And it was close.  

_Going straight for the center of the formation, huh?_ you thought dryly as you loaded a black cartridge into your flare gun.   _Ignoring the nearby humans. . . .  Bastard’s a deviant class._

“ _When you face the deviant class that are unpredictable in their behavior, you gotta fight.”_

You saw a shape in the distance, gradually becoming larger as you sped toward it.  You gritted your teeth.  It was a Titan, running full speed to the center of the formation.  As you got closer, you saw two shapes whizzing around it.  A spurt of blood gushed from the Titan’s achilles' heel, and as it fell, a second black shape slashed at the back of its neck.  It fell to the ground with a loud thump, steam gushing from its wounds,and you heaved a sigh of relief.

As you sped on, coming up on the steaming carcass, you noticed something.  It had been going on for a few minutes, and you had just dismissed it as the rattling of the horse as it ran, but it was distinctly different from that sensation.  This vibration rattled in your bones, and it kept stopping and starting, over and over again, almost as if it were --

Footsteps.

Giant, running footsteps.

You looked up, and there was a tiny shape in the distance, running full tilt towards the center of the formation.  You saw the two soldiers branch off towards it, and you looked down in your lap to fumble for a black cartridge.

When you looked back up, the Titan was on top of them.  

In the distance, you saw a figure running perpendicular to the two soldiers, and you caught a glimpse of short golden hair flashing in the sunlight.  It was Armin.  You heard a giant thud, and watched as the Titan, which had a strangely feminine shape, jumped over the two soldiers rushing towards it, and headed straight for Armin.

A guttural cry escaped from your lips, and you wrenched your horses around, straight towards him.  You were not about to lose someone else.

As you watched, the two soldiers leaped from their horses, both of them aiming for the back of the female Titan’s neck.

One.

The female Titan caught one of the soldiers in her fist, and clamped down.  His blood rained down on the plains, glimmering in the sunlight.

Two.

She grabbed the second soldier’s wire, tugging it towards her.  As the soldier was wrenched forward, you saw the white headscarf.  It was Ness, the soldier who had instructed the trainees on the formation.  The Titan whipped her hand down, almost as if she were throwing a ball, discarding the first body as she went.  Squad Leader Ness hit the ground with a sickening crack.  

Three.

Your hands were frozen in your lap.  You were still careening toward Armin at high speed, your horses struggling for breath.  

Three seconds.  Three seconds was all it had took for that Titan to wipe out two of the Scouting Legions members.  

She wasn’t a typical class.  She wasn’t a deviant.  She was --

All of a sudden, you remembered seeing Eren’s hulking Titan form in Trost, crushing the Titans around him to bits with almost expert precision, executing moves and wielding reflexes that shouldn’t be possible.  

She was like the Colossal Titan.

She was like the Armored Titan.

She was like Eren, carving his way through the city, decimating everything in his path.

She was a shifter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of those sorta filler chapters before the actual shit goes down  
> managed to sneak in a little moment, because there absolutely had to be a kiss before the expedition. there'll be one after it, too. maybe sexy times. who knows. (hint: i know)
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	15. Ice Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm dead tired i'm sorry if this sucks i have relatives over and i'm exhausted from being talked to all day

You weren’t fast enough.

The Female Titan was almost on top of Armin faster than you could blink.  As a giant, skinless foot started to come down, Armin let go of the spare horse’s reins, and it veered sharply to the left.  The foot came crashing down seconds later, right where the horse had been, missing the animal by inches.

But it was as if the Titan had anticipated that.  It leaped, extending its legs, its foot bearing down over Armin’s head.

Armin veered sharply.  

You screamed.

The foot missed him, just barely, but the force of the impact ejected Armin from his horse, throwing him backwards, bending him almost in half.  He hit the ground hard, but to his credit he still retained a shred of awareness, pulling his hands over his head and tucking his chin to his chest as he rolled to soften the fall.  

He finally rolled to a halt, rising shakily on his elbows, and the Titan crashed to its knees next to him.

It reached for him.

You were still far, too far away, to do anything, anything at all.  Images of Marco flashed through your mind, images of the bodies, the pyres, the screams, the smell --

Your yell was lost in the wind as you watched the Titan gingerly grab the hood of Armin’s cloak with its index finger and thumb, and it gently lifted it upwards.

Armin looked up, and you could see his blue irises quivering, and the whites of his eyes shone in stark contrast to his skin.

She bent down, inching her face closer to his, her blonde hair falling in front of her face, obscuring it, and you immediately thought the worst. Her head was obscuring Armin, you couldn’t see him, you didn’t know if he would have time to scream --

And then she was gone, running off toward the center of the formation once more.  

Relief crashed into your chest like a flying punch, knocking the wind out of you, and as you careened over to where Armin was still kneeling, you practically fell off your horse, scrabbling through the dirt to get to him.  

“Armin!” you called, grabbing him by the shoulders, the vibration of the Titan’s footsteps reverberating through your knees.  “Armin!”

He was near catatonic, every bone in his body quivering, his eyes wide, staring.

“She didn’t . . . kill me?” he whispered, seeming to take no notice of you.  “What happened just now?  She grabbed my hood and . . . .  My face . . .?  She wanted to take a look at my face . . .?”

“Armin!” you said more insistently, shaking him, and he jumped, as if coming out of a trance, and turned to look at you.

“[First] . . .?” he breathed, staring at you in astonishment.  “Aren’t you . . . on the other side of . . .?”

“Formation’s shot to hell, I can’t make heads or tails of where I am anymore,” you replied grimly.  “Guess that Female Titan really fucked everything up, huh.”

Armin’s eyebrows lowered slightly, and he opened his mouth to reply, when another, deeper voice yelled, “Armin!  [First]!”

You snapped your head up to look, and it was Reiner, galloping towards you and Armin at top speed.

“Reiner!” Armin cried.

“Can you stand?!” Reiner yelled back, the worry evident in his voice.  “Or rather. . . .  Anyway, you have no chance to survive beyond the Wall if you don’t ride a horse!  Hurry up!”

“Uh-huh!” Armin said with a nod, and leaped onto the spare horse Reiner was toting, his own horses long gone.  You whistled, and your horse jogged back to you awkwardly, still tethered to the spare.  You leaped onto its back, locking your knees in place.

“I saw the signal alerting to the deviant class appearance. . . .  So it’s her, the one that made all this mess?” Reiner asked, as he steered his horse after the Female Titan, who was still visible in the distance.  

“She’s not the deviant class!” Armin replied, his voice taut.  “She’s a human clad in Titan’s flesh!”

“What . . .?” Reiner gasped, his muscles freezing as he stared at Armin with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised.  

“Wait a sec!” Armin yelped, his hands flying to his belt.   “I didn’t fire the warning signal yet. . . .  Come on!” he called, pulling a flare gun and cannister from a pouch at his belt.  “I need to let the others know about our emergency!”

But before he could shoot off his flare, a crack sounded close behind you, and you turned to see a familiar copper-headed figure riding towards you.  Something rose and stuck in your throat as you watched him fly towards you, his face tight with anxiety.  He was safe.

“Wait!” Reiner said.  “Jean’s already fired one just now, it seems.”

Just as you were about to call out to him, a series of cracks resonated from your right, and you turned to see multiple columns of red smoke rising into the sky.  

“Signals from the position of the right flank?!” Armin cried.  “They suffered a severe blow and can’t continue the operation?!”

“Looks like we’ve partly lost the lookouts of the right flank!” Jean panted as he rode up next to you, sweat dripping down his face.  “All of a sudden a lot of Titans showed up!  I have no idea why, though!  There’re quite a few among them that can run fast!  They’re being held back somehow as we speak, but the enemy detection is no longer possible!  Chaos is spreading, but if push really comes to shove we’re all, to the last one, gonna get wiped out!”

“You bring good news, as always,” you grumbled, and he shot you a glare, but you could see the relief behind his eyes.  

“The right flank is where she came from!” Armin said, his tone grim.  “As unbelievable as it sounds, but could it be that it was her who gathered and brought Titans here?!”

“‘Her?’” Jean asked, raising an eyebrow, before suddenly snapping his gaze forward.  The four of you had finally caught up to her.  She was still running, but her speed seemed to have diminished, and she gradually started to inch closer and closer as you urged your horse forward.  “What the hell is a Titan doing there . . .?  Is that one the deviant class?”

“No . . . she’s not a deviant. . . .,” Armin said darkly.  “She’s a human wearing a Titan’s body. . . .  A human who has the same ability as Eren. . . .”  Hearing Armin’s tone convinced you, and you grimaced.  You had been desperately hoping you were wrong.  

“What are you saying?!” Jean cried incredulously.

“Armin, what makes you think so?” Reiner asked, his tone inquiring.  

“All Titans do is devour humans,” Armin explained, as the four of you continued to get closer and closer to the Female Titan.  “And humans die as the result of that, and not because killing humans in itself is the Titans’ objective.  But that female type crushed Squad Leader Ness by specifically aiming to damage his vital organs.  She killed him not for the sake of ‘eating’ him, but for the sake of ‘killing’ him.  The very nature of her behavior sets her apart from other Titans.  I’m sure it was her who brought along those regular Titans back when the Colossal Titan and the Armored Titan destroyed the Wall.  Her purpose is always constant -- that is, attacking mankind. . . .  No . . . I have a feeling she’s looking for someone . . . and if I’m right . . . then the one she’s been looking for is, without a doubt . . . Eren.”

Of course.

“Eren?” Reiner asked bewilderedly.  “But wasn’t Levi’s squad supposed to be in charge of the right flank where she came from?”

“The right flank, you say?” Jean piped up, and Armin whipped to face him.  “On the diagram of the formation I was given, Eren was to be stationed near the back of the left flank.”

“On mine, he was placed near the front,” you added, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, according to my copy of the diagram he’s supposed to be on the front lines of the right flank . . . but it’s hardly believable that someone that important would be put on the front lines. . . .”

“Then . . . where might Eren really be?” Reiner asked tentatively.

“If my guess is right, he should be in the safest spot of this formation . . . which is around the back of its center . . . I think.”

“Armin!  We don’t have time to mull over things right now!” Jean suddenly snapped.  “If the leading party commands retreat once they see the signal, the formation might be able to avoid the Titans on our right flank . . . however . . . if that female type is really as dangerous a threat as the Colossal and the Armored classes, we have no way to communicate info this complex with simple smoke signals.  And if she manages to crush the leading party before the right flank’s distress signal makes it to where they can see it, the formation will break down and everyone will get murdered.”

“What are you getting at?” Reiner asked nervously.

“To put it simply,” Jean said matter-of-factly, “at this distance we still might be able to draw her attention to us.  We still can buy some time ‘till the signal to retreat is given . . . probably.  Something like that, anyway. . . .”

You gulped.  This was insane.  Terrifying.  Idiotic.  Every cell in your body was screaming at you to turn in the opposite direction and run as fast as you could, but your hands were like steel on the reins, your muscles taut and ready to spring.

Reiner heaved a huge sigh.

“At least we have [First] with us,” he grumbled, shooting you a small smile.

“Me?” you scoffed, your heart thumping a mile a minute.  “You ranked higher than me, you know.”

“You would’ve ranked higher if you and Jean had quit your flirting for a second and actually gotten shit done,” he snorted.

“We did not --!” you and Jean cried simultaneously, both of your faces beet red.

Reiner chuckled, and the heavy mood was alleviated, if only for a second.

Silence fell.

“She actually has intelligence, you know . . .,” Armin said softly.  “From her point of view, we’re literally nothing more than flies . . . she can crush us just by swatting. . . .”

“Seriously?” Jean choked out, his voice shrill and tremulous as he barked out a short laugh.  “Now that’s just downright terrifying, huh. . . .”

“Hey you . . . are you really Jean?” Reiner asked.  “The Jean I know is the kind of guy who thinks only about himself, not others.”

“That was rude, dude, seriously,” Jean groaned, bowing his head.  “I just . . . really don’t wanna meet a disappointing end, with someone burning my bones without even knowing who they belonged to.  I . . .,” his voice trailed off, and he screwed his eyes shut.  Suddenly, he cried, “I . . .!  I know what I’ve gotta do right now!  That’s the job we chose!  So gimme a hand, guys!”

“Always such a way with words,” you snorted, but in reality all you wanted to do was hug him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe.

“Pull on your hoods!” Armin instructed as the Female Titan came within range.  “As deep as they go!  So that she won’t see your faces!  As long as she’s not sure who we are, she’ll be careful not to kill us!”

“I see . . .,” Reiner mused, pulling his hood over his head.  “She’ll have little choice since one of us might be Eren, who she doesn’t want to kill. . . .  Good thing for our peace of mind, eh.  Let’s hope that her eyesight is awfully bad, too.”

Your hands trembling, you wrenched your hood over your head, pulling the brim down almost to the tip of your nose.  You would be the most in danger, you realized, your form was nowhere near masculine enough to pass off as Eren.  This hood wasn’t going to help at all. Anyone with eyes could see that you were clearly female.  

And that meant that for you, she wouldn’t hesitate.  Not even for a second.

“Armin . . .,” Jean said, his voice trembling slightly as he, too, pulled up his hood.  “You know, I thought that the way you’re all over Eren is gross . . . but at the same time, I also considered you a capable fella. . . .”

“Huh . . .?  Th-Thanks . . .,” Armin replied nervously.  “But ‘gross’ is still way too harsh, you know. . . .”

You looked over at Jean, and made eye contact, trying to convey to him what you were thinking, that you could die, right here, today, that your chances of being killed were so much higher than anyone else here, that you loved him, that you hoped he knew.

“Now, listen, guys,” Jean said brusquely, turning away from you, and you tasted bile in your throat.  “From now on, you gotta listen to me, and do what I say.”

* * *

You were gaining on her.

She was still jogging, seemingly oblivious to your presence.  On the signal, the four of you split up, you and Jean going off to the left, Reiner and Armin to the right.  You rode along, waiting for the right moment, drawing your blades, your knees tight around your horse.

And then, she turned.  

She spotted Armin first.

She dug her heels into the dirt, whipped around, flung out her hand, and knocked Armin’s steed out from under him. He screamed, the sound gyrating through the air as he spun.  The horse screeched as it was flung away, and it hit the ground with a sickening thud.  

You could only watch, frozen.  Your brain screamed for you to move, but it was as if your muscles were locked in place.

Armin hit the ground.

Unlike his previous fall, there was no tucking, no rolling.  He hit the ground, head first, tumbled head over heels, his gear snapping off of his waist, and landed face first in the grass.  

He was still.

The Female Titan crouched down, looming over him, her hair falling over her face.  You could still see her lips, cracked, pale, and parted slightly.  They started to widen.

And it was as if everything hit you at that point, you snapped back to reality as if you had been tugged around the waist, and spurred your horse forward in a burst of speed, cursing loudly, Jean at your side.

“Armin!” Jean screamed.

The Titan whipped around, raising her arm for another blow, her movements faster than any Titan’s should be.  Jean shot off of his horse sideways, under her arm, his hook sinking into the flesh below her armpit.  The Titan changed her arm’s angle of trajectory, swinging it straight for Jean, but he was too quick.  He dislodged the hook from her side and shot another into her leg, dodging her blow just in time.  Her fist nearly clipped his foot, which would’ve been disastrous, but he managed to swing around her frame, towards the back of her neck.

You poised yourself on your horse, ready for her to stand up so you could slice at her Achilles’ heel.  

Jean circled around to the back of her neck, ready to deliver the finishing blow.  

She covered her neck with one hand.

“Jean!” you cried, launching off of your horse, shooting a hook into the arm covering her neck.  You would just cut the tendons in her arm, slice open the back of her neck, drag out whatever slimy piece of shit was inside.  

She was going to grab his wire, smash him in her fist, he would be nothing more than a bloodstain on the grass, he was going to die, he was going to die, Jean, Jean --

As her hand swung out, another voice yelled, “Jean!  You gotta avenge him!”  It was Armin.  He had risen from the ground, he was on his knees, bending forward, his head tilted up towards the Female Titan, his face caked with blood.  “The guy who was in a hurry to die really has died fast on that right flank!  Avenge him!  She killed him!”

The Titan froze up.  You swung in front of her face, preparing to cut into her arm, when she looked up at you.  Between the strands of blonde hair you could see her eyes.  They were blue.

Ice blue.

“She’s stepped on my best friend and crushed him!” Armin continued.  “I saw him stuck to the sole of her foot!”

You swung out of the Female Titan’s field of vision and towards the ground, your mind whirling, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Jean land safely on the ground.  At that moment, Reiner leaped off of his horse, sinking his hook into her neck.  He flew forward, blades extended, aiming straight for the nape of her neck.

She swung around, and caught Reiner in her fist.

You yelled.

Most of Reiner’s torso was still sticking out, and he fought to free himself, trying to find enough purchase to wrench free.

She squeezed.

Blood shot from between her fingers, flying through the air and spattering onto the ground.

Everything went still.

No. . . .  Not Reiner. . . .

Suddenly, more blood burst from the Titan’s hand, and it was wrenched open, fingertips sliced off, Reiner emerging in a shower of blood, his blades flashing in the sunlight.  Relief bubbled in your chest, and your knees quivered.

He whipped around, firing a hook into her back.  He circled around her, landing on the ground next to Armin.  He loaded Armin under his arm like a sack of potatoes, running towards the horses, yelling something you couldn’t hear.  You and Jean followed his lead, running as fast as you could, your 3dmg bobbing uncomfortably on your hip.  You could feel Jean next to you, hear his ragged breathing, and you wanted to say so many things, you wanted to grab him and collapse onto the ground and cry into his chest because you had almost lost him, and you had done nothing.

You shot one last look behind you, and saw the female Titan slowly stand up, glance one last time at your retreating forms, and jog away.

But she wasn’t running away.

Her giant feet were taking her straight to the center of the formation.

Straight to Eren.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't  
> i don't know  
> shit's just going down in the fic and in real life i am really just not having that great of a week it's mostly because i go back to school on monday
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	16. Totally Not Flirting on a Dangerous Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would just like to formally apologize for the last chapter  
> i hope this one's better

A long, shrill whistle rang through the air, echoing over the dry, waving grassland.  It bounced off of the trees rustling their green summer leaves in the distance, the high, clear note spiraling back into your eardrums.  Jean stood away from the rest of you, the last two fingers of both hands in his mouth, whistling desperately for his horse.  Both of your horses, and the spare you had been toting, had run off to god knows where.

You didn’t want to think about what would happen if it didn't come back.

“What’s with your 3dmg, Armin?” Reiner asked as he gingerly wrapped a bandage around the swaying soldier’s head.  

“It’s fine. . .,” he replied tiredly, his eyelids fluttering.  “The clasp got unfastened in the right way, so it didn’t break.”

“I see . . . good to hear,” Reiner replied as his large fingers fumbled with the bandages at the back of Armin’s head.  “But still, what are we gonna do?  We’ve got only one horse.  If Jean’s horse comes back, the four of us will be able to get a move on somehow, but. . . .”

Jean, out of breath, halted his whistle, drawing his fingers from his mouth with a frustrated huff.  Saliva dripped down the corners of his mouth, and he stared despondently off into the distance.  You were leaning up against one of the nearby trees, arms crossed, your lips pressed into a tight line.  You watched as he whistled again, his cheeks going red with exertion.  You looked back to Reiner and Armin, who were both kneeling on the ground, Armin seemingly in a daze, Reiner trying to get through to him.

“Armin!” Reiner called, shaking his shoulder.  There was no response.  “Armin, can you hear me?!”  Armin snapped to attention, blinking rapidly, and whipped around in the direction of Reiner’s voice.  “Your consciousness is still wavering?” Reiner asked, extending a hand to help Armin up.

“Yeah . . . I’m still a little out of it. . . .,” Armin sighed, taking the hand and slowly rising to his feet.

“I see. . . .,” Reiner grumbled, turning to look up at you and Jean.  “The choice is difficult, but it’s time we make it.  Seems like one of us has to stay behind.”

Jean’s whistle abruptly stopped, and he slowly turned to look at Reiner, his eyes wide, terrified.

With a frustrated sigh,  you pushed yourself off of the tree trunk, opening your lips to say something, when Armin beat you to it, “Wait a second,” he said matter-of-factly, bending down for his saddlebag.  “Before we do that, let’s try firing a smoke bomb.  If the formation still moves in a straight line, then the third squad of the fourth line should be passing somewhere near us.”  

The four of you looked at each other, and nodded apprehensively.  Anxiety crept through your chest like ice, and you wrapped your arms around yourself tighter.

Jean grabbed the saddlebag, loaded a red flare into the gun, and shot it off into the air.  You watched it coil upwards, your stomach twisting into a knot, the lump in your throat refusing to move.

“That’s the emergency signal,” Jean sighed, slowly lowering the smoking gun.  “I doubt we can communicate the nature of our predicament with that, though.”

“Armin,” Reiner said, turning around, “we’ll wait only three more minutes.  We need to decide before then.”

There was silence.

“I will stay,” Armin said softly.

“Just wait a sec here, Armin!” Jean sputtered, whipping around.  Your heart leapt into your throat, and you turned to face Armin, your nerves buzzing with nervousness.

“In exchange, I’d like you to relay a message for me,” Armin continued, his voice strangely calm.  “Only to Commander Erwin, if possible. . . .”

“Tell him yourself,” you spoke up for the first time in a while, your voice grim.  “I’ll stay.”

“You?!” Jean cried, turning to you now, his eyes dangerous.  

“You guys said it yourself, I’m the best out of all of you.  I’ll have the best chance of surviving out here.  I’ll go search for another squad, see if they have any spare horses,” you gritted out, your hands starting to shake.

“Listen --,” Jean growled, advancing on you.

“Wait!” Reiner suddenly yelled, his hands encircling his eyes.  He was facing the opposite direction, looking off into the distance.  You turned around, following his line of sight.  “Looks like somebody’s coming for us . . . and that somebody has two spare horses with them!”

Relief spread through your chest, and you wanted to sink to the ground.  You saw the figure riding disjointedly in the distance, two spare horses trotting along beside them.

“Isn’t that . . .,” Jean breathed, a grin stretching across his face.

“Christa!” you cried, your voice tremulous with relief.

“Guys!” she yelled back, reining up her horse next to you.  “Hurry up and get onto these horses!  The right flank is in serious trou -- “

“Yeah, we know that!” Jean interrupted as he rushed towards her.  “You’re our savior!”

You ran up with him, swinging onto the nearest horse, clutching its reins like a lifeline.

“Huh?!  Isn’t this my horse?!” Jean exclaimed, examining the animal more closely.

“The poor thing was so scared that she ran all the way to where I was.  Did you have a battle with some Titan?  Armin, are you injured?” she exclaimed, suddenly diverting her attention.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, more or less,” he replied shakily as he clumsily got onto the back of her horse.

“I’m glad you decided to make a detour and check on things when you saw our smoke signal. . . .,” Reiner said happily, a shaky smile stretching across his lips.

“Well, I was nearby, anyway . . .,” she responded as she spurred her horse forward, “and had Jean’s horse as another unexpected spare.”

“Horses take a liking to you, and you have a sort of virtuous air about you, you know,” Reiner said, his voice strange, and you rolled your eyes.  “We escaped certain death thanks to you.”

“I’m glad, everybody,” Christa said thickly, her lower lip quivering.  “I’m so glad the worst didn’t come to the worst. . . .”

All four boys froze, staring at Christa as if they had never gotten a proper look at her before.  Annoyance flared in your chest, and with a flick of the reins you shot ahead of them.

“Eyes forward, idiots,” you snapped, sending a murderous glance backwards.

“We need to return to the formation fast,” Jean agreed, shaking his head.  “The withdrawal order should be given anytime now, since the leading party is in no danger from her, as she went in the direction opposite to where they are for some reason.”

“‘She?’” Christa asked curiously.

“It’s hardly been even an hour since we left the Wall . . . I’d’ve never thought we’jd be returning after barely venturing outside.  The actual prospects turned out darker than everything I could imagine. . . .,” Jean continued, ignoring Christa's question.

At that moment, several cracks resounded through the air, almost like firecrackers, and you turned to see a multitude of green signals fly into the air, curving to your left.

“What. . .?!” Jean cried.  “A green signal?!  But it’s not the withdrawal signal. . . .  The formation is only changing the course, with the mission still continuing?!”

“Perfect,” you snapped, hunching forward in your saddle.  Your heart was thumping again, your hands were slick with sweat, and you could feel the panic rising in your chest.

“But every soldier is supposed to have freedom to decide that continuing the operation is no longer possible for them. . . .,” Reiner spoke up, his eyebrows drawn low.  “Could it be that the signal didn’t make it all the way to the leading party, after all?”

“Whether they know or not . . .,” Armin replied, fiddling with something in his lap, “in the current situation, we have only one option.”  He shot a flare from behind you, and the sound made you jump.  

“We have to follow the order.”

* * *

There was silence as the five of you rode.  Looking up, you traced your eyes along the skyline, settling on the sun that was rapidly sinking just above you.  

You had been heading west for quite a while.

Wasn’t the mission to head to a small town in the south?  If your memory of the map was accurate, if you kept going this way, you would come upon --

“The Forest of Giant Trees. . . .,” Armin suddenly breathed, comprehension dawning in his voice.  What he had just realized, you couldn’t say, but judging from the look on his face, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“Are you serious?” Jean groaned, his teeth gritted.  “Are they ever gonna tell us anything?”

As your group neared the massive tree trunks, you saw specks in the distance.  They were riding toward you.

“Cadets!” someone roared as they came upon you, slowing their horses to a halt.  “Orders from the top! ‘Only the central file, consisting of the cart convoy squads, is to enter the forest.’  Your orders are to perch yourselves near the entrances and stop Titans from entering!”

“You’re kidding!” Jean spluttered, his voice indignant, but the group of senior members was already riding away.  “They can’t be serious!” he continued, turning to each of you.  “They can’t be!”

“Don’t you have ears?” you sighed tiredly.  “We have no other choice but to follow orders.  What would you suggest we do otherwise?  Ride back to the Wall?”

Jean snapped his mouth shut, glaring daggers at you, but you were too fatigued to care.  

The five of you veered to the left of the forest entrance, riding close to the trunks.  You stared up at the trees in wonder, only now realizing just how unbelievably large they were.  The trunks were almost as thick as a house, and the tops reached up farther than you could see.  The canopy formed a blanket over the forest below, so only patches of sunlight shone on the mossy ground.  Only a few meters in, and most visibility was lost.  You were just waiting for a pair of eyes and a toothy grin to leer from the shadows.

“Ridiculous,” Jean grumbled as your group stopped at a designated area.  “Fucking ridiculous. . . .”

Sighing, you swung off your horse, handing it to a nearby soldier, who picketed it to a tree.  The others did the same, handing off their horses and trudging toward the tree trunks, adjusting their gear, peering up and up and up at the seemingly never-ending cross-hatching of branches.

You shot off first, relishing the familiar feeling of the wind whipping through your hair, letting your breath get carried away by the wind.  You heard the sounds of wires extending and hooks thudding into wood from behind you, and positioned yourself on a branch facing perpendicular to the nearest tree trunk.  Jean landed next to you, a scowl still twisting his face, while Christa had gone off to find Ymir, and Reiner and Armin were across from you, Armin sitting on the incredibly wide branch, looking exhausted.  

“This is insane. . . .,” Jean sighed, drawing his blades.  “Abandoning the initial plan to establish a supply route. . . .  And then, instead of admitting defeat and retreating, we’re recklessly going out of our way to drop by this place to do some sightseeing. . . .  And to top it off, we’re ordered to dismount, draw our swords and stand by here, stopping any Titan that tries to enter the forest. . . .  That guy . . . he dishes out some really fucked up orders. . . .”

“He might hear you, dipshit,” you drawled, eyes trained on the horizon.  

“What’s new is that we got no decent explanation whatsoever,” he continued, ignoring you, his voice slowly rising in pitch.  “If only he wasn’t our superior, we could’ve just ignored him with no consequences.  Well, from the looks of it, he’s far from being at peace, too.  I heard of cases when an unpopular commander, judged incompetent in a critical situation by his subordinates, gets stabbed from behind and dies.  And these cases aren’t as uncommon as it might seem.”

“What are you getting at, Horseface?” you sighed, eyeing him suspiciously.  “What are you going to do?”

He looked back at you, met your gaze, and his eyebrows quirked upwards.

“Relax,” he grumbled, turning back around.  “I’m just a little pissed off about this whole mess we’re stuck in, is all.  And about what I’m gonna do . . . I’m gonna follow the order, that’s what . . . preventing the Titans from entering the forest, that is.  You also think that’s what we should be doing, don’t you, [First]?”

“Are you trying to insinuate something?” you asked exasperatedly.

“No,” he snapped back, eyes narrowing.  “You just look like you have a clue about what’s going on, unlike the rest of us.”

You gave a noncommittal grunt, turning your gaze back to the grassland.  Suddenly, a white shape burst from a cluster of trees, closer than you should have allowed to happen, careening towards the forest at high speeds.

“Five meter class, approaching!” you barked, your voice ringing through the air, and you heard the hissing of blades being drawn from sheaths all around you.

“In short. . .,” Jean said shakily, shifting his stance, “we just need to stop them from entering the forest, right?  No need to engage them in combat. . . .  Right . . .?”

“Always the easy way out with you, huh?” you snorted, striding to the edge of the branch.  The Titan had plastered itself to the trunk of Armin and Reiner’s tree, pointlessly clawing at the bark, its face tilted upward, its mouth stretched open, waiting.  “Well, if that’s all we have to do. . . .”

You leaned up against the bark of the tree, watching as more shapes popped up in the distance.  Honestly, you didn’t care anymore.  If they stopped at the perimeter to try to get to you, good.  If they didn’t, fine, you would go after them.  It didn’t matter anymore.

You closed your eyes, furrowing your brows, your mind cycling through everything that had gone horribly, horribly wrong.  Your chest started to tighten as you remembered the fear, the endless terror of knowing that you were a mere fly in the face of something a hundred times more intelligent than it should be.  Practically the only advantage humanity had against the Titans was that Titans were stupid, they couldn’t create formations, they didn’t have groups, they had no close combat fighting ability.

All except for this one, with the lightning fast movements and deadly precision.  

And you remembered the eyes, the ice blue eyes, the long, lanky, blonde hair, and two words came to your mind, a simple phrase, that you had once heard intoned over and over and over again, whispered into the ash filled air -- “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You okay over there?” a voice spoke dangerously close to your face, and you snapped your eyes open, jumping backwards, and then remembering that there was only solid tree bark behind you.

You were staring into Jean’s amber eyes, and they were so close to yours that you could see his pupils minute dilations, could see the specks of gold in his irises reflecting the sunlight.  

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you said breathlessly, trying to retain your composure.  

He rolled his eyes, tsking.

“Please,” he scoffed, stepping even closer, and your breath hitched in your throat.  “What, you think I’m blind?  We spent three years constantly by each other’s side, you know.”

“We’re in public,” you hissed, your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

He merely made an “mmn” noise, his face inching closer to yours.  You waited, your heart thumping, your eyelids fluttering shut --

Except his lips never came.  

Instead, you felt something rest on your shoulder, and you looked down to find Jean’s forehead nestled in your neck, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

“Still in public,” you breathed in singsong, absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair.

“No one’s watching,” he grumbled, and you knew it was true, and yet you still checked.  Reiner and Armin were facing the opposite direction, watching as another Titan joined the five meter against the tree trunk.

“Geez, so delicate,” you snorted softly, relaxing slightly.  

After a few minutes of silence, he murmured, “You scared me, you know.”

“What’ve you been doing to me all day?” you retorted exasperatedly.  “You’re seriously bad for my health.”

“I’d never leave you behind,” he replied, ignoring your comment.  Your heart jittered.

“Someday you might have to. My life isn’t worth all of humanity’s,” you replied, your fingers slowly combing through his hair.

“It is to me.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” you scoffed.

“I’m trying to be romantic here,” he grumbled, looking up at you.

“And failing,” you responded with a fake yawn.

“Hey,” he whined, standing up, and you shivered from the loss of heat.

“It’s true,” you said meanly, with a shrug.

“Maybe I should’ve gone for a nice Wall Sina girl,” he mused, placing his finger to his chin.

“Please,” you mocked.  “No one else but me can put up with you.”

He frowned, but remained silent, instead moving to lean next to you.  You felt his arm brush against yours as he settled into place, and you shivered slightly, your breath catching.  You closed your eyes again, listening to the wind rustling through the leaves, the shifting of Jean next to you, the scratching sounds of the Titans below.  Crazily enough, it was peaceful, almost.  You could feel giant footsteps shaking the branch below you, you could hear shouts in the distance, ringing outwards from somewhere inside the endless columns of bark.  You knew something was happening, something momentous, something you should be worrying about, listening for orders to.

But all you could think about was the giant fist coming straight for Jean, this time unavoidable, the skinless hand covering the back of the neck, the movements seemingly faster than blinking, the eyes, the ice blue eyes --

Suddenly a voice cut through the air, “15 meter class, heading into the forest!”

You snapped your eyes open, looked down, and the Titan was passing just below your branch, lumbering along, its head lowered.

“I’ve got it, Mr. Romantic,” you said with a wink and a grin as Jean scrambled to a standing position, drawing your blades.

And you jumped into the open air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah uh i added some cute dialogue because jean & co. really don't do much in the upcoming chapters. they're more bystanders in the whole "woah annie is a titan" debacle. i'll try to input some key character development scenes, but it's kinda early on, so the next few chapters may be kinda short.


	17. Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowow here we are again.  
> another filler chapter it's just yunno this shit has to be done.

There were so many of them.  

You only had to exterminate a few before they figured out the humans were straight above them, not straight in front.  They clawed at the tree trunks below you, stretching their necks upward and clicking their jaws open and shut, as if they thought biting at you would bring you to them.  A few of the smaller ones had managed to climb up a few feet, but couldn’t figure out how to work their limbs to climb higher.  

You stared down at them, your lip curling in disgust, anxiety threatening to burst out of your chest.  They looked up at you, making guttural noises from the backs of their throats, rumbly “Umm, ummm” sounds that sent shivers of disgust through your spine.  Their fingers dug into the tree trunk, splintering the wood, and you knew that if enough of them gathered at one tree, repeatedly clawing at it, they would tear it down.  You hoped they weren’t smart enough to figure it out.

“Um. . .,” Christa’s tiny voice rang out, and you looked up.  She was staring at her squad leader, Nanaba.  “They’re climbing the trees. . . .”

“Yes, I see that,” Nanaba replied impassively.  “If they climb up to this height, I’ll move out of the way.  But, I think we need to hold out only a little longer.”  Christa blinked at her in confusion, and you shifted uneasily from foot to foot.  None of you had been given any word of what was going on inside the forest.  The screams at the entrance had faded out quickly, and the giant footsteps had become almost imperceptible.  At one point, they, too, had stopped.  But now, though, a multitude of tiny explosions were ringing through the air, which had been continuing for at least fifteen minutes.  It sounded like shooting a hook into a surface and hearing it thunk, but multiplied by at least ten thousand.  “The withdrawal order should be given any time now.”

“Um,” Christa began timidly, “does it have anything to do with the explosions inside the forest we’ve been hearing?”

Nanaba did not answer, and silence fell once again.

* * *

The swaying of the tree was the first sign.

You swore loudly, stumbling, as you looked to see a Titan level with you, its hands and feet bracing itself against the trees on either side of it.  Its eyes latched onto you, and its mouth stretched into a grin.

“We gotta move away from here!” Jean called.  “Fucker . . . looks like he got the hang of tree climbing. . . .”

“Motherfucker. . . .,” you grumbled as you launched your hooks forward and swung away, following Jean and Armin.  

“He’s gradually getting better at it,” Jean said irritably.

“It means he can learn . . . that’s a scary thought,” Armin agreed, looking back towards the Titan, which was now trying to climb towards them, its ugly bowlcut falling in front of its eyes.  The three of you landed on a branch some distance away, as the Titan struggled to figure out how to get to you.  It had figured out how to climb up, but going forward was the tricky part.  The branches were too thin to support its weight.  You hoped it would be stupid enough to try to stand on one.  “Although, that, too, varies from individual to individual.”

“Hey . . . ,” Jean interjected, his voice strange.  “There’s something going on inside this forest right now . . . and I think I now have a guess as to what.”  You slowly turned to him, apprehension fluttering in your stomach.  “We’ve lured that female type all the way here to capture it, am I right?”  Armin was silent, his mouth slightly agape.  “I just can’t think of any reason as to why only a select few knew about the plan.  In the Legion, there are those who try to artificially destroy the Wall.  Am I right?”

There was silence.  You and Jean watched the Titan as it struggled to move forward, while Armin sat down on the ground, eyes trained on the branch below him.  

“Yes,” he finally responded, looking up, his gaze decisive, “I, too, think there are such people.  Commander probably is sure of it.  Eren’s existence suggested a possibility that Titans can be controlled artificially.  Thus, we have to assume that the Titans who tried to bring down the Wall are humans and reside inside the Walls.  Our foremost priority should be identifying such humans to prevent any further damage to the Walls.  And then, if we manage to successfully capture them, we’ll be able to attain the information the Legion desperately seeks and learn the truth about this world.”

“These sounds . . .,” Jean mused, glancing back into the forest’s depths, “indicate she fell into the trap, after all, with Eren being the bait, huh. . . .  But still,” he turned to face you and Armin as he said this, “why was Commander so sure the Titans would chase Eren once he left the protection of the Wall?”

“Well . . .,” Armin began, “I think it’s because Titans didn’t succeed in destroying the Wall in their recent attack.”

“Huh?” Jean said confusedly, and your lips tightened into a thin line.  You had been silent for a while now, merely listening as the two of them talked.  Your thoughts were swirling in your mind like murky water, occasionally showing you glimpses of things that were gone before you could reach them.  It was infuriating, like you were on the brink of understanding something, of realizing something, but it kept eluding you.  

“For some reason,” Armin continued, “they stopped their attack halfway.  Their mission could be considered accomplished only when they would’ve destroyed the gates in Wall Rose, and yet . . . there must have been a reason for them to stop without completing it.  Add to that the fact that when we plugged the breach in the gate they took such pains to destroy, they did nothing, just letting us do it.  So maybe that ceased to be their goal. . . .  What if during their attack something happened that was of greater importance to them than destroying the Wall?  If so, I can’t think of anything else other than Eren turning into a Titan and going on a rampage. . . .”

“So, uh . . .,” Jean said slowly, “in other words . . . among people who knew about Eren’s transformation at the time, there were spies, yeah?  Among those who’d been there at the time.  Someone is a . . . .”  At that moment, the bowlcut Titan lost its footing and slid all the way down the tree trunks, its nails digging into the bark as it fell.  It managed to land on its feet, but it had destroyed the trees so effectively that it probably wasn’t climbing up again.  “Even if so, I’m not satisfied,” Jean continued.  “Even if there’s no way of knowing who’s the spy . . . I still think more people should’ve been let in on the real plan, you know?”  The bowlcut Titan began to attempt to climb again, digging its fingers into the ripped up bark.  It managed to climb a few feet, before the bark gave out and it fell, landing on its back.  “If soldiers knew about that intelligent Titan beforehand, their approach to dealing with her would’ve been different.  Take, for example, the leader of your squad and his aide. . . .,” Jean said, directing this last bit at Armin, who had stood up to stand beside him.   

“No . . .,” Armin replied, gritting his teeth.  “It wasn’t wrong.”

“Huh?  What wasn’t wrong?” Jean asked incredulously.  “Just how many Scouts, do you think, have died when they could’ve survived, huh?”

“Jean,” Armin said sternly.  “Everyone can make a choice after they’ve learned what it will result in.  It’s so easy to say ‘we should have done it this way’ afterwards.  But . . .!  You can’t know what your choice will result in before actually choosing, you know?  Can you tell that Titan’s true identity?  Or how many of them exist?  What they can do?  What they know?  What they’ve learned?”  As Armin was speaking, Jean began to adopt a look like a kid who had been caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar, and you would’ve laughed if there weren’t ten Titans swarming below you.  “The thing is, you don’t know!  You never know anything!” Armin continued, his voice growing in volume, his gaze so strong and determined that you wanted to look away.  “But the time keeps moving, it won’t stop just because you want it to!  And there surely will come a time when you’ll have to make a choice, even though you have no idea what the result will be!  I know what the words ‘taking responsibility for the consequences’ mean.  And I think these are rightful and useful words.  No matter what result this plan will produce, it won’t change the fact that a lot of scouts have died in vain for it.  Commander may be a bad and heartless person for what he did, but that’s just fine by me.  Having considered every possible course of action, even if he had to put the lives of his comrades in danger as the result of his choice, he still had to choose: the lives of 100 comrades or the lives of all humanity living inside the Walls.  And Commander has made his choice.  He has chosen to throw away the lives of a hundred of his comrades.”

“You sure are one for monologues,” you sighed as Armin finished, striding up to join them.  “But you make a good point.”  Here you looked at Jean, your gaze piercing, unrelenting.  He balked, sweat beading on his temples.  “We all have choices to make, and sometimes people die because of them.  And we’re gonna have to live with these choices for the rest of our lives.  That’s the way it is.”

“She’s right,” Armin agreed.  “I haven’t lived all that long yet, but there’s something I firmly believe in.  The people who have the ability to change something in this world all, without exception, have the guts to abandon things important to them if they have to.  They are those who can even abandon their humanity if they’re hard pressed to outdo monsters.  People who can’t throw away something important can never hope to change anything.”

“It’s probably a relatively new concept,” you added impassively, crossing your arms.  “You’ve never had to sacrifice anything in your entire life.”

“Well, Christ, who made this let’s-gang-up-on-Jean hour?” Jean grumbled irritably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Believe me, if we were serious about ganging up on you, you would be crying,” you said, your voice deadpan, but you were desperately trying not to crack a smile.

He narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to angrily respond, when a scream ripped through the air.

It wasn’t a scream, not really.  There was no way to describe it, in truth.

And you had heard it before.  So, so many times before, in different forms, out of different mouths.  You had heard it in the depths of a Wall Maria forest, and in the cobblestone streets of Trost.  It was an animalistic, bestial wail, the kind of wail only heard when the creature was either in its last moments of life, or at the very brink of desperation.  It was horrifying, screeching, it grated on your eardrums and brought back visions of things you had never wanted to remember ever again.  It brought back visions of blood, of so much blood, of people killing people just because they could, of monsters killing people just because they could, of two people that never, in your mind, adopted the names of mother and father, wailing as they died.  Wailing as they reached for you.  And your scream would have joined the cacophony if not for the sudden pounding of dozens upon dozens of feet, running under the branch you were standing on, and away.  But they were heading in the wrong direction.

“What the fuck?!” Jean cried, rushing over to the other side of the branch.  “They’re . . . all rushing into the forest?!”

You heard cries of dismay ring from all around you.  Your thoughts of the past were abruptly gone as instinct took over, your whole body going into overdrive.  You heard shouts, cries, yells, of “Engage them!  Engage them!”

And so you did.

You braced yourself for the screaming.

There wasn’t any.

It was as if all of the Titans had become deviants, they totally ignored the soldiers swinging around them, instead just plowing deeper into the forest.

You tried to kill as many as you could, but it was more difficult than you had imagined.  One of the main components of Titan fighting was the Titan’s attraction to humans.  It was that trait that allowed the scouts to put them down quickly and efficiently.  But when you were no more than specks of dust to them, it became even harder to position them in such a way so that you could deliver the finishing blow.  

You swung low, your feet almost brushing the ground, and cut the Achilles tendons of at least ten Titans in a row, knocking them all to the ground.  

They fell, and were immediately pounced on by fellow scouts.

But there were more.  So many more.  The people around you couldn’t possibly exterminate them in time.

You swore loudly, swinging above the Titans again, searching for Jean in the flurry of green cloaks.  You didn’t know what the hell Commander Erwin & Co. were doing in the depths of this forest, but whatever it was, you knew it was important, and if the Titans got there, everything would immediately go to shit.

But perhaps it was already too late.

You heard cracks, four of them, and the sound was at the same time familiar and frightening.

You looked up, and flare smoke was curling into the air.  

You abruptly stopped, hitching yourself to a tree and staring towards the center of the forest.

“So it’s finally over,” you sighed, wiping sweat from your forehead.

How wrong you were.

* * *

Everything immediately went to shit.

As you were flying out of the forest, towards the entrance, with Jean and Armin by your side, you heard them.

Rumblings, crashing sounds, resonating from deep within the forest.  You wondered if they were doing something with the female Titan again.

And then you heard it.  A sound you had only heard twice before.

A roar.

A Titan’s roar.

Eren’s roar.

And that was when your blood ran so cold that you shivered.  

It had failed.  The mission had failed.

You turned to Jean, and his face was twisted, and you knew that he had figured it out as well.

Just how many people had died?

* * *

It was only after the scouts were well out of the forest, riding in formation for the Wall, when you heard shouts and cries echoing from the back of the procession.  You managed to catch a few words from a neighboring squad.

Eren had been captured by the female Titan, and subsequently rescued by Mikasa and Captain Levi.  Levi’s squad was dead.

The news didn’t hit you particularly hard.  You hadn’t known them.  Hadn’t worked with them.  They had been elusive figures, elites who spent most of their time guarding and working with Eren.

But it settled on your shoulders like a stone, as you rode north, hands clutching your reins so hard that your palms were starting to chafe.

It had failed.

The Female Titan hadn’t been captured, at least thirty people were dead, Eren was passed out in a wagon somewhere behind you, and there was a rogue Titan shifter still out there who you knew would strike again.

God, it was heavy, the cloak over your shoulders, the jacket pressing down into your skin.  You felt the 3dmg bouncing at your hips, the blade holders thumping dully against your chest in their holsters.  You heard the blades softly clinking, the gas tank banging against the saddle, the straps and buckles creaking and torquing as you moved.

And you just wanted to crawl into the ground and disappear and never be seen because you were just a kid, in truth.  You were not supposed to feel old at 18, you were not supposed to feel like the world was about to crush you, you were not supposed to know exactly what a dying person’s scream sounded like.  You shouldn’t know by heart the taste, smell, and sight of blood, you shouldn’t know what staring in the face of Death feels like, you shouldn’t know what it’s like to watch friends die.

And you stared at the people around you, as the formation gradually broke up into three columns heading straight for the Walls, which you could already see growing in the distance.  Their eyes were tired, dead.  You remembered a day when you had looked in the mirror and smiled because that was the face that was going to restore hope to humanity.

And now, you supposed, you looked just like them.  

And you could hear the recovered bodies thumping in the wagons behind you, heard the squelch of blood pooling in the wagons from still-open wounds.  You could hear the muffled sobs of soldiers, could see the slumped shoulders, the quivering fingers.  

And it made you want to scream, because it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way, everything was supposed to go smoothly, you were supposed to have the Titan shifter in your grasp, no one was supposed to have died.  

But you were too tired.  Too tired to be angry.  Too tired to even be sad.  

You almost wished, in that moment, to fall off your horse and bash your head into the ground and never feel anything ever again.

And that scared you.

Because you had always gone through life with a ferocious drive to live, to breathe and see and hear and feel, to tear through life like a wild animal because goddamn it you were going to be free.

And just like that, it was gone, like it had never existed in the first place.

It’s funny how that works.

How a person so full of fire and light can just become hollow.  Empty.

Because you were empty, and so were the people around you, and so was the world.

And you hated it.  God, you hated it.

But you rode on.

And you didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i tried to make that as depressing as possible  
> did i succeed  
> but no really this manga/anime is really depressing and i'm just trying to portray how reader would feel in this situation as accurately as possible  
> idk man i have no experience with what they're going through so i hope this at least sounds like it could be plausible.
> 
> if you have questions/prompts, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	18. Bedrock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what happens in this chapter  
> hint: SEX so if you're not about that life, then feel free to click away, no hard feelings

Bells tolled.

Loudly, incessantly, beating against your eardrums like persistent fists. You desperately wanted to cover them, but your hands stayed fastened to your reins, your knuckles imperceptibly shaking.

The Gate banged shut behind you, rattling the ground, sending vibrations up through your legs and into your chest.  You looked up dully, and saw people, so many people, crowded at windows, on rooftops, on the sides of the street.  

“The Scouting Legion is back!” they cried, their faces rising and falling as they took in the blood, the bandages, the eyes.

“Their numbers dwindled by quite a few compared to this morning’s. . . .,” more muttered, hiding their mouths behind their hands, but their words pierced through you like a lance, all the same.  

You could hear children yelling excitedly, trying to see over the heads of the adults, climbing on rooftops and leaning precariously out of windows.  You remembered those days, those days when the soldiers riding through the streets were heroes, people to look up to, people to aspire to be.  And now you were here, on the other end of the stick, and while before ,all you had seen was light, all you now saw was darkness.  The children’s eyes glimmered like dewdrops dangling off of blades of grass, their smiles wide and shining and untarnished.  

“Didn’t they leave?” more voices muttered as you rode past, your head low.  “I mean, they were so pumped up and shouting early in the morning, and look -- these idiots are back by noon!”

“Why did they even bother to go outside at all?”

“Dunno.”

“But . . . judging by their gloomy mugs, it was all in vain again . . .”

“Well, they’ve succeeded in wasting our taxes on their stupid stunts outside, if nothing else.”

“Commander Erwin!” came angry shouts from the front, and you looked up. “We’d like you to answer a few questions!”

“Have you managed to accomplish some grandiose goal to make up for the great number of victims the Legion has suffered?!”

“Do you have regrets about sacrificing your soldiers?!”

Erwin remained silent as he rode on, his head held high, his blue eyes dark and troubled.

You rode on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You got back to the Scouting Legion headquarters, and the Military Police were waiting for you.  With barely a word, they flashed some official papers, and placed Eren and Erwin in handcuffs.  Shouting rose from the Scouts around you, and you shifted, annoyance pricking you like needles.  The goddamn Military Police always did what they wanted, always got what they wanted, no exceptions.  Eren was far too tired to resist, although Mikasa had to be restrained by Levi, and Erwin went quietly, his brows drawn regally over his eyes, his gaze level, calculating.

“Looks like everything really is going to shit,” a tired voice sighed from next to you, and you turned to see Sasha, her eyes low, dull.

“Yeah,” you sighed, staring as the Military Police carriages were driven away.

“Yeah.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You wandered around the castle aimlessly, almost forgetting what it had been like to feel.  Your feet thumped dully over the cobblestones, your hands numbly moved as assigned, your face managed to stretch into tight, closed-lips smiles when you passed by friends.  

And then you saw him, and you remembered.  

You remembered all the times he had come so close, all the times his heart had been mere seconds from halting, all the times the giant hands and teeth had lunged for him and he had just barely managed to get out of the way.  

He was in the stables, brushing down his horse, his face drawn, anxious.

And you were running toward him without a second thought, your voice cracking horribly as you cried, “Jean!”

He looked up at the sound of his name, and he blinked confusedly as he watched you stride towards him, your face showing a whole host of emotions that you could no longer keep down.

And as he opened his mouth to ask what you wanted, you knocked the brush out of his hands, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

You started to shake uncontrollably as you stood there, lips pressed against his, but Jean was stock still, as if he had been frozen in a block of ice.  You pulled away, and you felt like you were about to cry, there was a lump in your throat and bile churning in your esophagus and you just hurt and you looked into his dazed eyes, and he blinked at you once, twice, thrice.  

“What’s . . .,” he said dazedly, his hands going to your waist.  “What’s . . .?”

You just choked out, “We’re alive.”

And for once, Jean Kirschtein understood immediately.

His lips suddenly clamped over yours, his arms crushing you to his chest, his hips locked against yours as he pushed you into the stable wall.  

He was kissing you furiously, incessantly, and you were responding with just as much vigor, your tongues clashing and melding into one another as your hot breaths floated around you.  

His thumbs began to rub into your waist as he moved his lips to your neck, pressing his hips harder against yours, making a soft moan escape through your parted lips.

This was desperate, this was wanting, this was two people who might die tomorrow trying to take all they could before they went.  And this was  not how you had wanted things to turn out.

His hands were just beginning to snake up your shirt when you managed to gasp out, “We should go somewhere else.”

He detached his lips from your skin and looked up at you, grinning slyly, his amber eyes heady and full of something you couldn’t identify.  

“I couldn’t agree more,” he breathed, and his voice was husky and rough, and you nearly started to cry.

Because there it was again, the thing that you had thought lost, thought gone forever as you rode over those desolate grasslands, the ball of fire in your chest that drove you through life like a storm.  It practically scorched your insides, threading its warmth through your veins, entwining itself into your bloodstream.  And you felt alive, you felt here, you felt real.  

Leave it to Horseface to make you feel alive again.

Nodding dumbly, you jogged after him as he strode out of the stables, somehow managing to avoid all other human contact.  The two of you strode into the corridor where your bedrooms were, Jean’s steps full of purpose and determination, and as you tried to register all the feelings swirling through you, Jean pulled open the door to his room, grabbed you by the hand, and yanked you inside.

He slammed the door shut, jamming the lock shut, and then jamming you up against it.  

His knee roughly shoved between your legs as his palms skittered under your shirt and over your ribcage, fingertips brushing the swell of your breasts.  That simple touch, no more than a whisper, was enough to make you throw your head back and sigh, your body humming with contentment as his lips latched themselves onto your collarbone.  

Thrumming with excitement and a strange sort of exhilarating fear, your hands ghosted up your abdomen, landing on the chest buckle of your 3dmg, and slowly undoing it.  

You heard a breath hiss through Jean’s teeth, and his hands and mouth abruptly stopped as he watched you.  

“Aren’t you gonna help?” you teased, flashing him a grin as the first clasp popped free.

All too happy to comply, his fumbling, calloused fingers started tearing and jerking at the straps containing you, as you started to undo his.  

Somehow, you managed to get it off of you without getting stuck, and with a loud clatter both sets of 3dmg fell to the floor, the gears of war that had seared themselves into your skin, literally, forgotten as if they had never mattered at all.

Jean paused then, staring into your eyes, his own hesitant and questioning.

“You’re sure?” he whispered, searching your expression.

You rolled your eyes and groaned.

“Bed, Kirschtein.  Now.”

Grinning wickedly, he gathered you in his arms, making you yelp in surprise.

“You’re so cheesy,” you complained as he lowered you onto the bed, smothering kisses all over your face.

“You love it,” he replied cheekily as he settled over you, balancing his weight on his elbows.

Fuming, you very suddenly jerked open the buttons of your blouse, exposing the soft curving flesh poking out of your brassiere.  

Your intention had been to shut him up.  It worked.

He stared at your chest unashamedly, his face growing redder by the second.  Feeling a sense of power flow through you at his reaction, you shimmied out of your shirt, tossing it somewhere to the side.  

Seeing that he was still comatose at the sight of your chest, you sat up slightly, wriggling out from underneath him, ready to demand that he take off something off his own, when his gaze stopped you.

It was at that moment that you realized he hadn’t been staring at your breasts.

“I . . .,” he whispered, his voice horrified, shaken, as he stared at the long, white line running from your collarbone to just above your navel, “I did that.”

Ah.  That’s right.  You had forgotten about the scar.  Your trainee days seemed so far away, as if the person in those memories wasn’t you, instead, just someone you had watched from afar.  

“No, you didn’t,” you stated firmly, brushing your palm against his cheek.  “I did it.  I jumped in front of you.”

He looked up at you, his eyes pained.

“I fell.”

Irritation foamed within you.  You had gotten over this ages ago.  It was over with.  Done.  It didn’t matter anymore.  The only thing that mattered was what was happening right now.  You almost snorted.  Kirschtein always found a way to ruin the mood.

Growling in annoyance, you roughly grabbed his hands from where they were placed on the bed, and shoved them just above your breasts, to where the scar was most prominent.  His rough, scratchy fingers brushed over the smooth scar tissue, and he tried to jerk away, his face contorting, but you held him there.

“Go on,” you said sharply, and his head snapped up to meet your gaze.  “Feel it.  You feel it?  It’s there.  It’s been there.  It’s gonna be there.  It’s over, it’s done, it doesn’t matter anymore.  There’s no going back, no changing what happened, no taking back what was carved into my chest.  Regret is a useless emotion.”

You released his hands, and he slowly retracted them, his eyes trailing all the way down the scar as if it was something he was trying to memorize.  Irritated that all sense of arousal was now gone (that was what you fuckin CAME here for), you swiftly reached behind you, undid the clasp, and let the article of clothing fall away from you.  

Jean’s lips pressed into a tight line, his eyebrows rose so high that you thought they were going to fly away, and he stiffened, his face practically erupting as it turned cherry red.  And this time, you were certain about what he was staring at.

“A-Are you just gonna sit there?” you stammered, desperately wanting to clamp your hands over yourself as he just sat there and stared.  He didn’t respond, his eyes unblinking as he just fucking stared.  Sighing in exasperation, you grabbed his hands once more, but this time you landed them directly on top of your breasts, pressing his fingers into your soft flesh.  An eep sound escaped from his lips, and he jumped an inch off of the bed, his muscles stiffening.

You sighed as his calloused fingertips scratched against the soft flesh, and your hands left his to curve around his neck.

He experimentally squeezed, the palms of his hands brushing against your rosy buds, and you arched your back, pressing yourself further into his hands.

Gradually, he started to warm up, slowly massaging his fingers in the soft flesh, extracting all sorts of breathy moans from your throat, as his lips once again began to lick and suck at your neck.  This part was easy.  This part was something the two of you had experimented with before.  There had been boob touching, neck kissing, just not full boob exposure.  

It was the upcoming parts that made you jittery.  

As his hands worked over the roundness of your chest, your fingers moved down his neck to quickly pop open the buttons of his shirt.  Almost hungrily, you tore it off of his shoulders, throwing it in the same direction as yours, namely, you didn’t fucking care.  You ran your palms over his pectorals, your fingers pressing into the hard muscle.  You had waited so fucking long to run your hands over those muscles, and it was finally FINALLY happening.  All those times you had caught glances of his abdomen, the days he had taken his shirt off during sparring, it was all culminating in your memory as you very suddenly pushed him down onto the bed, and clambered on top of him.  

He looked like a deer in the headlights as you slowly lowered yourself towards his neck, flashing him a sly grin before attacking the skin as he had been doing, sucking and licking and biting the flesh as your hands moved over his abdomen.  You heard a moan float through the air and you smirked.

And then, you shifted your hips, and you felt it.  

It.  And Jean suddenly threw his head back and groaned as your hips met his, his breath puffing out in short gasps.  

That was all it took, huh?  

Grinning wickedly, you rocked your hips over his, and he hissed, his hands coming up to grab at your waist.  Your fingers ghosted down towards his waistband, brushing lightly beneath, and you heard a growl reverberate in his chest as his fingers twined in the belt loops of your military-issued white pants.  He roughly jerked them down your legs, and you heard the clasp snap.  You shivered as the cold air settled over your bare skin, and you helped him shimmy them off of your ankles.  

And then there was one.

The only thing left hidden was, well, down there.  

Jean’s fingers started slipping under the waistband of your underwear, his lips pressing against yours, when you jerked his pants down his legs, underwear and all.

And you had seen a penis before, in the mandatory sex ed classes they had given in training, but never this close.  And it took you a second to process that there was a penis, quivering and painfully erect, right in front of you.

“No fair,” he grumbled as he pulled away, and slowly slid your underwear down your thighs.

And the two of you were naked in front of each other, and it was surreal.

And awkward.  So terribly, terribly awkward.

Twining his arm around your waist, Jean roughly flipped the two of you over, so that he was on top of you, lips leaving marks over your neck and collarbone, hands brushing over your breasts, hips poised above yours.

And for once, you didn’t recall the hot, sweaty breath of the baker’s boy, or the groping, rough hands of the Military Police man, all you could feel and all you could see was Jean, his hot breath gasping over your neck, his hands sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you all the way to your toes, his moans and gasps as you scratched at his back and pulled at his hair.

And then he was poking at your entrance and looking at you questioningly and you nodded feverishly and held onto him tighter, expecting it to hurt.

It didn’t.

What you didn’t expect however, was the puff of air that erupted out of you as he pushed inside.

There was dead silence.

You were horrified.  Petrified.  What the hell was THAT?!  Was that supposed to happen?!

And then came the sound of choking, and you looked to see Jean, head down, shoulders shaking.  The goddamn bastard was laughing.  It burst out of him like water out of a pipe, bubbling out of his throat and through the air and he was crouched over you, laughing his ass off, and you couldn’t help but giggle, too.  Idiocy really is contagious.

As you breathily tried to protest that it wasn’t funny, he sighed, and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, circling his arms around your waist.

“You’re perfect,” he giggled, his frame still convulsing with sporadic fits of laughter, and you rolled your eyes.

“Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna continue to laugh?”

That shut him up.  

Still smiling slightly, he pushed all the way in.

And wow.

WOW it felt good and weird and awkward at the same time, he was pressing uncomfortably into a space that had never been pressed into before, and oh god you wanted to do this every day for the rest of your life.  

A long moan escaped from your throat, and your fingernails dug into his back.  He started to move, slowly moving out and back in, and it was uncomfortable and heavenly at the same time, and you didn’t know what to think.

Gradually the pace started to increase, your breaths started to become more labored, your moans louder, and you knew there were people nearby, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.  You were sure you were drawing blood with your fingernails as Jean’s pace became practically animalistic, he was slamming into you so hard that the bed was rocking against the wall, and oh god you were feeling so many things and pleasure was humming through you like a note plucked on a harp and you were alive, so blissfully, beautifully, terribly alive.  

And you were just getting up to some sort of plateau, to some sort of point that you desperately wanted to reach, when Jean abruptly shuddered inside of you, and you felt something warm and liquid-y start to seep out of you.

Jean collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily, and all you felt, really, and you felt horrible about it, was disappointment.  It was fun while it lasted, yes, but you were so sure there was something more for you to reach, some sort of point, like Jean had.  

“Hey, Jean,” you panted, lightly twining your fingers in his hair.  He hummed in response, snuggling deeper into your chest.  “You better get a washcloth or somethin’ unless you want this shit dripping all over your sheets.”

Jean’s eyes snapped open and he abruptly scrambled off of you, a stream of expletives spewing from his lips as he sprinted to the bathroom.  Laundry was a chore that you knew he wasn’t particularly a fan of, and you could only imagine the rumors that would swirl when people found Jean trying to scrub semen out of his sheets.

Jean emerged with the washcloth and immediately started scrubbing, muttering about how this was a whole lot more work than he thought it would be, when his thumb brushed against you, just a little touch, something that would have been barely felt against an arm or leg.  

But when you were horribly unsatisfied, it was like water to someone dying of thirst.  You jerked violently, a moan slipping from your throat.  Jean’s hand abruptly stopped, and he glanced up at you curiously.

“Didn’t you . . .?” he asked, his cheeks growing red.

You shook your head, chewing nervously on your bottom lip.  

Jean tossed the washcloth to the floor and sat on the bed, looking as though he was trying to decipher a foreign language he only knew a few words of.

“Should I . . .?” he asked, glancing to your vagina as if it were about to bite him.

Collapsing back on the bed with a huff, you lifted your hand and made a swirling motion with your finger.

You hadn’t been alone most nights in the girls’ barracks, no, but on the rare occasion where you had managed to stay up late enough, and everyone was asleep, well, you were a teenager, you had heard stories, listened to experiences, you knew what to do.  You didn’t have a lot of time for it, granted, but it was a nice relaxant, to be completely honest.

Awkwardly, Jean placed his fingers over your center, pressing lightly, and you moaned, throwing your head back.  He then began to rub in slow circles, and that delicious feeling of pleasure began to well up in you again, and you sat up, grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss.  

“Faster,” you gasped as your breathing hitched, and his fingers pressed against you harder, the pace quickening, and you buried your fingers in his scalp, tugging lightly at the strands.  He went faster still, and you pressed the back of your skull into the bed, every breath accompanied by a moan, your hands frantic, skittering from his hair to his back, pulling and scratching and trying to find some imaginary purchase because wow did it feel good.  You could feel something building in your abdomen, and you desperately wanted to reach something, a point, and it was so close, you could feel it, it was like cresting a wave --

Colors suddenly burst in front of your eyes, you arched so far off of the bed you felt as if you were going to snap, your eyes rolled back into your head and all of your moaning ground to a halt as you shook all over, the pleasure departing as quickly as it had arrived, leaving you breathless and shaky and tired and, overall, satisfied.

Humming tiredly, you opened your arms wide, waiting for Jean’s warmth to engulf you once again.  He readily complied, settling his weight over you and wrapping his arms underneath you, resting his face in the crook of your neck and sighing.  

And then he said something.  

Something so foreign and strange, something you had heard your whole life, but something that had never been said to you.  Something that you had always wondered about, always craved, always reached for with clawing fingers like a starving child.  Something you had eventually given up on, something that you had resigned yourself to never feeling or having that feeling reciprocated.

“I love you,” he whispered, and you started to cry.

He noticed your abnormal shaking, and bolted upright, blinking in bewilderment as he watched the tears stream down your face.  You had clapped a hand over your mouth, and the tears flowed past your fingers and down your chin, dripping onto your chest, and you realized in that moment that he had never seen you cry.  

“Wh-What’s wrong?” he stammered, searching your face anxiously.  “D-Did I hurt you?  What is it?”

You shook your head furiously, more tears emerging as he cupped your face in his hands and brushed the droplets away with his thumbs.

“Thank you,” you choked out, and happiness welled in you, and you felt it, all the years of sadness crushing you like a vice, all the nights spent huddled in gutters and trusting no one because everyone, everywhere, and everything was a lie, you felt it all disappear as those three little, stupid, practically insignificant words passed his lips.  A stream of “I love you, too”s burst from your mouth as you hugged him, as you smiled and cried and ran your fingers through his hair.  

And everything was okay, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week on 'anna portrays awkward sex issues': queefing, the whole mess thing, and the awkward stages of learning what your partner likes  
> i've never had sex i'm sorry i hope this is at least a little accurate  
> and yes it's not supposed to be hot and heavy like perpetuum mobile, i wanted to make it as awkward as possible because from what i hear, the first times are always painfully awkward.
> 
> if you have questions/prompts, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	19. Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am trash this is trash everything is trashed i am just trying to sort out my existence and this is just basically filler shit  
> it gets fun from here i promise

The plan was simple, really.  As simple as a mission to expose a Titan shifter could be, you supposed.  There were lots of meetings.  Lots of discussions.  You didn’t have a particularly big part in this plan, so you didn’t really care.  You were still kinda sore from your night of romping in the sheets, which Jean wouldn’t stop teasing you about, so, really, this whole thing didn’t matter much.  

The plan went like this: Eren and Erwin were to be shipped into the capital, a select few Survey Corps members tagging along.  Eren was to be switched out with Jean at some point, to escape with Eren and Mikasa.  Along the way they were going to meet up with Annie, and see if they could get her to play along and come quietly.

Knowing Annie, that wouldn’t be the case.  

You had been surprised, of course, when Armin had proposed it.  That Annie had been the Female Titan.  

But maybe you had known, somewhere deep, deep inside, when you had flown past that giant face, looked into those familiar, too familiar ice blue eyes.

And you remembered the “sorry”s pouring out of her lips, the blankness of her expression, the emptiness of her stare.  

Yes, you thought, Annie could be the Female Titan.

Annie was the Female Titan.

* * *

 

Of course you were worried.  He was heading right into enemy territory, into a place where all they wanted was to dissect him.

And unlike Eren, Jean did not have super healing abilities.

The two of you slept in each other's arms that night before the mission, you breathing in the scent of his skin and wondering if it would be the last time, his hands on your waist, rubbing circles into your skin, and in the morning you kissed him and held his face and sighed, and that sigh meant everything.

Because you couldn't promise a single thing.

* * *

Since you were moderately skilled, you were placed on one of the Plan B.  Plan A was, of course, to capture Annie in one of the underground tunnels.  Plan B was to battle her, and take her alive.

You knew that it wasn’t going to be that easy, and you were right.  

You were waiting atop a building, poised and ready to go, when you heard a crack.  A tiny crack, something that you would have mistaken for a wagon wheel spoke breaking, or the bite of a whip.  But you knew that sound, knew it all too well, from training and Trost and the expedition –

It was the crack of a flare.

Everyone around you immediately sprung into action, and you leapt up, searching the horizon, for the tell-tale smoke, the towering figure, the lithe, muscled, skinless body –

Only a few seconds had passed, but they felt like an eternity.  

A giant explosion ripped through the air.

It tore the shingles off of buildings, you saw bodies flying up, their forms disappearing in the haze of heat and light, you heard screams and yells and you could smell the panic, the fear, the biting, choking smell that invaded your nostrils and struck your brain cold.

And then you saw it, the giant, hulking shape, blonde hair falling limply in front of its face, its lips slightly parted.  It was her.

She crashed to the ground, groping around for something beneath a building, and your team tensed, waiting for the signal.  Waiting for Eren.

She slowly got up, and ignoring everything around her, trudged forward a few steps, and smashed her foot through the pavement.  It broke into a tunnel, the tunnel Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were supposed to use, the tunnel where Eren would transform.

A minute passed, at most.  Annie was punching through the street, trying to get to Eren, her fingers scrabbling across the pavement, her movements jittery.

Another explosion, another spray of cobblestones, a giant fist, a giant body flying backwards into a house (god, you hoped they had evacuated), blood, blood everywhere.

God, you were so done with Titan shifters.

* * *

She crashed into a church.

By then, you were moving, cutting through the air like a fish through water, hooking and swinging and hooking and swinging, over and over as you weaved through tight buildings, following the large form that was now running, frantically, almost, towards the Wall.  

“She’s planning to scale the Wall!” your squad leader bellowed.  “We can’t let her get away here, or the human race is doomed!  Stop her!  Aim for her legs!”

Soldiers rushed forward, their gas billowing through the air.

She swung.

Her arm plowed through the spire of some building, completely blowing by the soldiers right on her tail.  Did she miss?

But then she was knocking the tiles off of a roof, knocking off spires, moving her arms in arcs as far away from the soldiers as possible.  Rubble rained down on them, and they swerved and dipped around it, but Annie did not swing at them once.  And she more than had the oppurtunity to.  

Then someone else was flying by you, and a red scarf rippled in the breeze.

Mikasa swung around a clocktower, pelting straight toward Annie’s face, spinning at the last second and slicing the skin just below the eyes.  She veered away, turning for another swing.

“Flatland ahead!”

Shit.

Flatland was bad, flatland was horrible, flatland couldn’t be traversed and had to be gone around.  Flatland meant the escaping of the Female Titan, meant the escaping of Annie, meant the ever-elusive answers to Marco’s death –

To be honest, you had forgotten about Eren.  

He came bursting out from behind you, his eyes narrow, determined, and you skidded – well, as well as you can skid in midair – to a halt, landing messily on the rooftop of a house surrounding the flatland.  

“Split up into two groups!” a voice yelled.  “Secure the Female Type no matter what!”

People were running.  People were screaming.  You hardly noticed.  There was Annie, digging her hands into the houses next to her and whipping around, Eren still running toward her, full tilt.  With a wild roar, Eren launched himself forward.  Annie settled back, her fists coming up towards her face, ready.  Eren jumped, fists flying.  Annie kicked.

Her leg severed right through his, his sudden loss of balance combined with his extreme momentum throwing him far to the side.

You were racing across the rooftops alongside the battle, watching attentively, your heart beating out a symphony in your ears as you waited.  The right moment was sure to come, and soon.  

With barely a beat missed, Eren launched himself upwards on his one good leg, catapulting towards Annie’s face.  He tilted, bringing his fist up, and she dipped, trying to block the blow with the open palm of her hand.  Eren’s fist was far too powerful, colliding with her face and sending her reeling backward, her feet scrabbling for balance.  Eren fell to a crouch as his leg regenerated, roaring loudly, a crying, bellowing, almost-human sound that grated against your eardrums.

Annie managed to find some purchase among the cobblestones, and quick as a whip, she was airborne, her leg swinging back, preparing for a kick.  Her kick hit Eren straight in the face, sending him crashing into a building.  Blood spurted from the remains of his skull, huge chunks of bone and flesh spun through the air, and everything went still.

Eren had a hold of her leg.  

Swinging her fist up, her teeth clenched, she swung her fist up, and brought it down on Eren’s head, one, two, three times, letting out a desperate, frustrated roar.

He let go, and she was still.

She left him there, jogging onwards, flicking the blood from her pointed fingertips.  With a giant leap, she sank her fingers into the Wall.

Your heart leaping into your throat, you shot forward, blades at the ready, stomach roiling, mind reeling.

You were not ready to kill a comrade.  Not yet.

But she was fast.  Too fast.  She was scaling the Wall faster than what should’ve been possible, her fingers leaving large holes in the stone surface.  She was already halfway up, when a small black figure, with a trailing red scarf, meet her there.

Eren was already up, slowly staggering towards the Wall, his left hand still gone, his skull mostly regenerated.  He hovered there, calmly, almost.  Mikasa swung.  

And in one fell swoop, Annie’s fingers were gone.

She fell.

And it was as slow as a leaf in a slight breeze, as she plummeted, arms and legs extended, head lolling.  And she hit the ground with a sickening thud, and three hundred people were on her, Eren jumping forward and grabbing a hold of her head and legs, soldiers swarming around the nape of her neck, preparing to cut her out.  You swung down onto the scene, watching the steam curl into the air, watching Annie’s face, her parted lips, her tired, dead eyes.

They attacked her with pitchforks and blades, and you pitched in to help, prying up the pink, muscled flesh, scraping away as it weakly tried to harden, pulling up tendons and muscles and slowly you started to dig deeper and deeper, you hit a chasm –

And there she was, tendons attached all over her body, nearly obscuring her face, her eyes closed, her lips pressed tight together, her body limp.  Eren reached for her.

With a wrenching scream, her eyes snapped open, her teeth clenching, and everything stopped.

For you had never seen any person with that look in their eyes.  Tears were brimming at the corners, the iciness all gone from the blue, it was foaming, frothing, wild, like the sea in the storm, roiling and crashing in on itself and slowly drowning her from the inside out.  Her eyes flicked to you, and she cracked.

And it was terrifying.

There was an explosion of blinding light, and you were thrown backwards, tumbling off of Annie’s Titan-form back and into the open air, desperately trying to orient yourself.  You landed heavily on your side, rolling as you hit, your elbows and knees scraping and tearing on the pavement.  You rolled onto your forearms, your vision hazy, double, and you saw steam curling upwards, the light receding, and beneath Eren’s giant fingers, a crystal.  

And Annie Leonhardt was encased inside.

She looked peaceful, almost.  Her hair was splayed out all around her, her lips set neutrally, more happily than you had ever seen them, her eyes closed, her head hanging, her arms hanging by her side.  She looked as if she was merely sleeping.

Everyone erupted around you, yelling, screaming, squad leaders were bellowing for cooperation, soldiers were scurrying around, hurrying up to the crystal and hammering on it, but their tools shattered beneath their fingertips.  Even the 3dmg blades, specially designed to cut through tough Titan flesh, were no more effective on it than a passing breeze.

You slowly stood up, brushing yourself off, holding your side gingerly, your head pounding, your stomach swimming, your organs roiling, and you looked up, to a gaping hole in the Wall where Annie’s fingers had cut through, cracking and spilling rubble.

And a Colossal Titan looked back at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know this is really short but it's basically just info we need for later chapters and jean barely shows up at all because he's just nonexistent in this part in the manga and i didn't like what they did in the anime so i left it out
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	20. Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah hey we're at the part where the anime ends so it should get fun from here

Everything went to shit, as things tend to do.  Eren was being dragged out of his Titan form, chunks of the Wall were falling to the ground, Annie’s crystal was being hammered on by a dozen soldiers, to no avail.  You saw Hanji over by the lump of transparent stone, desperately trying to maintain order, holding up cords and ordering her men to move the crystal underground.  You jogged over to help, as that seemed to be the most pressing issue at the moment.  You had imagining the face in the Wall, you were sure.  Smoke and debris reflecting sunlight, that’s all it was.  

You hefted a cord over your shoulder, tossing it across the crystal to another soldier, tugging on your end to make sure it was secure.  Your thoughts were spinning, your head reeling, but your hands moved of their own accord, tightening and fastening and doing it all over again.  As you fixed hooks to the cord, you caught a glimpse of Annie’s face.

It was so still.  She had never been that calm, not once, her brows had always been low, lips always twisted, ice blue eyes always dull and bored.  Annie had never seemed like one to back down from a challenge, she had always taken on the biggest boys during training and flipped them right onto their backs.  And just when the Legion had cornered her, just when they were about to take a step forward in this fight, she had tucked tail and ran, enclosing herself in this crystal, shutting herself off from the world.  She might not even be alive anymore.  There was no telling when she would come out, if ever.

What would become of you now?

Hanji’s squad hauled over some metal jacks to lift the crystal.  Copper flashed in the sunlight.

You had no idea where Jean was.

You reeled away from the crystal, spinning on your heel and diving into the mass of soldiers.  You had to find him, had to had to had to _had to_ –

Screaming erupted from all sides, people pointing at the Wall, and yelling, and you turned around, arm across your forehead to block the sunlight, and there was a giant, gaping hole in the Wall, the smoke was curling away, dissipating, a face appeared, a nose, a mouth, an eye, and it moved –

“A Titan?!”

“Why’s there a Titan inside the Wall . . .?!”

“I-Is it moving?!”

“Hanji! Your orders?!”

Hanji was standing a few feet away, her hands limp by her side.  You were about to turn on your heel and stride away to continue your search, when someone roughly bumped into you, a man, balding, wearing a ceremonial robe, a heavy linked chain necklace –

Oh.  One of those guys.

“Pastor Nick?” Hanji asked bewilderedly as he clasped her shoulder, breathing heavily.  

“Do not . . . let daylight shine . . .,” he panted, “on that Titan. . . .  You must block the light with something, anything . . . from shining on that Titan . . . you have got to hurry . . .!”

* * *

He was nowhere.  Nowhere.  You had looked everywhere, searching for that glint of copper hair, that horse face, that stupid grin.  It was nowhere, nowhere, you had even climbed through the piles of dead bodies, your feet slipping and squelching through the pools of blood, looking for something that would differentiate him from the rest.

But he was nowhere, and there was chaos at the Wall, fabric was being collected, you had lended your cloak, Hanji was atop the Wall with Pastor Nick, overseeing the repairing of the breach, Eren was in the Wall Sina Legion headquarters, being treated.  You supposed if Jean was anywhere, it might be there.  

You pushed your way through the streets, not caring how many people you bowled over on your trek.  What if he was hurt?  What if he was –

You shook your head violently, images of Jean’s body, Jean’s face, frozen in a silent scream, limbs gone, torso missing flitting through your mind and you grew frantic.  

You pelted through the crowd, clawing at the bodies that threatened to hinder your progress.  Your 3dmg was banging against legs, you were carving dents into your skin with your harness with how fast you were running, and your jacket was tight, too tight, it was weighing you down –

You burst into the medical wing, and saw an official looking woman striding down the narrow, cramped hallway, followed by Armin’s yellow head, and then behind it, a flash of copper, two eyes of amber.  

You cried his name, but it came out as more of a cracked warble, and he looked at you, at your soot-streaked face, your blood-stained uniform, your heaving chest.  He had already changed into civilian clothes, a crisp white shirt and brown trousers, his eyes tired and drawn, his mouth set into a line, but when his gaze landed on you he smiled and you bowled towards him.

“[First]!” Armin cried, but you barely spared him a glance, you were leaping, throwing yourself into Jean’s arms and nearly knocking him over.  He smelled like soap and clean linen and you smelled like sweat and blood and it was a cacophony of sensations as you grabbed his face with both hands and started kissing him, repeatedly, as his arms tightened around your waist, and you didn’t even care that Armin and the female official were watching, you didn’t even care that you were in public.  Let them look.

You kept saying his name, between kisses, and you were crying, you realized, as you pulled away and he was swimming before you.  You held his face in your hands and cried and cried because oh god there were so many in the streets, twisted and mangled and so very not alive, and you were so afraid that you would walk by him and wouldn’t recognize him because he was too torn apart, and you would never know and would go the rest of your life without ever seeing his smile, his eyes, without ever feeling his arms ever again.

“We should just leave them,” you heard Armin chuckle, and you buried your face in Jean’s shoulder and hiccuped, your tears gradually subsiding as you melted in the familiarity of his arms, the warmth of his scent.  

And then your other senses started to filter back in, and he was speaking to you, frantically, worriedly.

“Are you okay?!  What’s happening at the Wall?!  Where’s Annie?!” he was asking, and he grabbed you by the shoulders, and you looked at him, and there was such a tidal wave of emotions roiling over his face that you thought he was going to burst.

“I’m fine,” you got out, your voice cracked and dry.  “The Wall’s fine.  Annie’s being shipped underground.”

“Oh thank god,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.  “I’m supposed to be at a meeting with Commander Erwin, to discuss some things, I don’t fucking know.”

“You should probably get to that,” you said, wiping your tears away, the strength in your voice returning.

“It’s fine,” he said softly, turning back to you.  “But first off – you stink.”  He wrinkled his nose, and you bristled.

“Idiot!” you chastised, swatting at his arm.  “Of course I do!  Some of us are doing work, you know!”

He reddened indignantly, his familiar scowl twisting his lips.  “I’m so doing work!” he protested.  “I’m making sure Jaeger doesn’t kick the bucket!”

“Oh, because you’re a doctor,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes and already starting to walk away, towards your room, towards a hot shower and a meal.  

“Who says I’m not?” he joked, jogging after you.

“Every medical professional ever,” you retorted, and you heard him scoff.  

It was amazing, really.  Being with Jean for only a few minutes and it was as if everything that had been pushing you into the ground had been lifted.  You felt free, like the jacket on your shoulders and the wings seared into your back meant nothing, nothing at all.  And it was nice.  

He pushed you into the wall when you got to your hallway and kissed your soot-stained lips and cupped your bloody face, and he pulled back, nose wrinkled, and you raised your eyebrows questioningly.  

“You taste like ash,” he whined, and you laughed.

“I’ll wash up, you big baby,” you laughed, and you walked into your room, and you crumpled.

Before your knees could hit the ground Jean was catching you, his strong arm around your waist, his body pressed against yours as your head swam.  

You could dimly hear him calling your name, and you dimly registered saying something akin to “I’m okay.”  His arm slipped behind your knees, and he was lifting you, and there was a soft mattress beneath you – wow, when had these concrete mattresses become so soft? – and something warm and wet was brushing over your face and your clothes were being removed, and suddenly you were airborne again and being set into warm water, and oh wow this was very nice.  

Your head lolled backwards and you heard a loud groan and felt furious scrubbing all over your body, and you faintly realized that you were, in fact, naked, and that Jean Kirschtein was washing you.

“I can do it myself,” you garbled, and he grumbled and you felt something wet and squishy hit your face.

You grabbed the sponge with a frown and beckoned him with a crooking finger.  You felt his warmth inch closer, and your fumbling lips found his, and heat crackled in the pit of your stomach and oh god all you wanted were his lips on your skin and his hips locked against yours.

He pulled away with a groan, telling you to get clean first.  You saluted with a sleepy grin and sluggishly scrubbed yourself, dunking your head underwater and relishing the way it flowed over your scalp.  You climbed out after a few minutes of blissful soaking and found the water was practically opaque.  Funny how you never notice how much dirt you collect on your body until you see it floating in dirty bath water.  You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a rat swimming somewhere in there.  Sighing, you drained the tub, wrapped a towel around yourself, and stumbled back into your room, dripping all over the floor.

Jean was relaxed on your bed, his face bright red, and sunlight was still streaming through the window, scattering an array of sparkling dust motes as you shifted through it, and it was not the time to be sleeping, there were important things going on and there were bodies littering the streets and monarchies to be dealt with but you frankly didn’t care.

You slid over to your dresser, picking out a pair of nightclothes, and dropped your towel right there to change.  You heard Jean choke, and you looked over quizzically, raising your eyebrows.  He was looking stubbornly away from you, hand on his chin, as if to keep it there, his face the color of a tomato.

“Jean,” you said in disbelief, and he grunted in reply.  “Jean, you have literally stuck your –”

“H-HOW ABOUT WE NOT HAVE THIS DISCUSSION,” he cried frantically, turning his head even further away from you.

“Whatever,” you mumbled, and managed to finagle on the remainder of your clothes.  The fog over your mind was gradually clearing, and you were becoming hyper aware of Jean’s body heat filtering through the room, settling in the pit of your stomach and setting something tingling.

You strode over to the bed, wrenched Jean’s hand away from his face, drawing a small eep noise from between his lips.  Throwing your leg over his body, you settled your hips over his, grinding roughly down, and you saw his jaw clench.  

“I’ve had a long day,” you stated, wrapping your arms around his neck.  “I’d really appreciate it if you make out with me.”

“You’re so stiff about it,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, but his lips locked against yours and he was grinding up into you, his hands roaming along the dip in your spine and the points of your shoulder blades.

You sighed, and you ached all over and you threw yourself into the kiss, hoping it would dull the pain, and you were being a stupid kid, throwing yourself into something in the hopes that it would create enough noise to block out the cacophony before it.  And your brain gradually started to grow foggier and foggier once more, until you couldn’t feel anything at all and your head was dropping onto his shoulder, your eyelids fluttering.

You heard a chuckle rumble through his chest, and his hand was on your head, twining through your hair, and he was saying it again, those three little idiotic words that sent such a pang through your chest and you wanted to cry again.

You clutched him to your chest, and there was yelling outside, you could hear it, there were footsteps thumping outside of your room, orders being shouted, and you should be out there, you should, but really, who would miss two low-ranking soldiers?

Warmth flooded through you as you held him, as his arms snaked under your body, as his face pressed into the crook of your neck, as his warm breath fluttered over your skin.  And you had never felt particularly connected to the world, it had always been like you were floating slightly above it, not really feeling, not really seeing, not really living.  

But now it was as if the whole cosmos was flowing through your bloodstream, sending prickles through your skin and making you feel so wonderfully, tragically alive.  You no longer felt distant, as if a simple breeze would carry you off into nothingness, you were here, you were now.  You were a part of the world in a way you had never been before, and it felt almost poetic, laughably so.  

There was chaos, but inside, for the first time in your life, you were still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well wasn't that poetic i'm kinda sorta having an existential crisis
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr, jean--biscuit


	21. Dark Wings, Dark Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas you filthy animals
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> *graphic depictions of a body burning on a pyre

Disconnect is a difficult thing to describe.  It’s as if your mind and body are acting out of sync; your mind is reeling and flickering as your body moves steadily forward, or your body quivers and falters as your mind jumps from question to answer and back again.  You never quite understood it.

But there it was, as your feet kept plodding forward, as your limbs still swung, your heart still beat.  Your vision was blurring, consciousness fading, and yet you trudged on, following orders with mindless obedience, nodding and grunting in affirmation or denial.  Words could not leave your lips, for if they did, you did not know what they would be.  

It had been 20 hours since Titans had been sighted within Wall Rose.  

You were nothing if not kept busy.  You and Jean’s little respite in your quarters had been short-lived, as the yelling and crashing going on outside had quickly become too raucous to ignore.  The two of you had stumbled outside, blinking in the confusion, to learn that Titans had broken through Wall Rose.

That had certainly woken you up.

Jean, of course, was a raging vortex of emotions.  One moment he was sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, the next he was threatening to cave in someone’s skull.  He writhed and fumed and swore, tramping about the streets of the Inner District with murder in his eyes, and all you could do was trail along silently.  When he got particularly raucous, all it took was your hand on his arm, maybe a soft glance, a mumbled “Jean.”  You calmed his anger like the turning of the moon calmed ocean storms, everywhere you gently steered him toward, he went.  He had been yelling at a senior officer, and you could hear the words “dishonorable discharge” about to be spit, but you had placed a hand on his arm, and said his name, quietly, softly.  His brow twitched and his teeth ground together, but he backed off with down-turned gaze and a huff.  

The senior officer had looked at you with eyes full of wonder, and quipped with a slow-spreading grin, “So, you’ve finally managed to tame the horse, huh?”

Your only response had been a tired smile.

“I’m not a horse,” he had grumbled to you as he was walking away, shooting you a childishly irritable glance.  

“Sure thing, Horseface,” you had replied, patting his arm sympathetically, and he had jerked away from you with a growl.

“I’m not.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was everything, and nothing to do.  Debris littered the streets, untold numbers of bodies beneath it, there were citizens milling about, their homes in ruins, tattered blankets tucked tightly around their shaking shoulders, and yet it felt as though none of it was real.  Humanity was ending a hundred miles south, and there was nothing you, or anyone, could do about it.  There was just waiting, endless waiting, for the messenger to come, for the axe to fall.  People were flitting to and fro, whispering hurried words in waiting ears, their faces tired and drawn.  Rumors abounded, and you caught snippets of them as you wove your way through the streets; there were more Titans than could be counted, they were heading for Wall Sina, no, stupid, there weren’t any Titans at all, it was a government hoax to force the people’s obedience, no, that’s ridiculous, they would never – how do you know?  

You picked your way over the remains of a church, a crushed body heavy on your shoulders, blood seeping over your leather jacket and pressing sticky wet fingers into the base of your spine.  Thoughts ricocheted inside your head from ear to ear, and you shivered as the body’s head drooped down and its hair brushed against your cheek.  It was dirty blonde, thin, and crusty with dried blood.  You hadn’t gotten a good look, and the amount of damage made it difficult to get one, anyways, but you thought it was female.  Young.  Slim.  Once full of possibilities.

Your breath caught and curled in your throat, and you stamped your emotions down like a boot to a flame.  Now was not the time, you reminded yourself, shifting the girl so her left elbow was no longer digging into your side.  

You had had your time to mourn, to cry, and now was not it.

You trudged onward, your feet slipping over stones and stumbling over hidden pitfalls, until finally you reached the fires.  

The flames were a beacon for all to see, 30 feet tall and blazing, the acrid black smoke curling off of them rising steadily into the sky.  You didn’t have to look up to know you were near them, though.  The smell of burning flesh was enough.

You loaded her onto a pyre, and winced as a wave of heat pressed into your throat and a cloud of sparks pricked at your face and hands.  You watched as her skin bubbled and burnt and began to slowly slough off of her bones to pool in clumps of ash amidst the logs, as her eyes popped and slid down the sides of her face, as her hair sizzled and burnt down to expose her scalp.  

“Don’t watch it, you creep,” a voice snapped, and you looked to see Jean loading his own body into the flames, a middle-aged man with drooping jowls and a ring of hair surrounding the shiny bald crown of his head.  

“They’re people,” you responded numbly, your dry throat crackling painfully.

“They were people,” he corrected, grabbing your arm and forcefully twisting you around.  “They’re just bodies now.”

“What justifies that distinction?” you asked as you stumbled over your own slow-moving feet.

“Don’t pull this philosophy shit with me right now,” he growled, jerking you around to face him.  “They’re dead, and so you have to burn them.  If you don’t burn them, they spread disease, people get sick, and then they die.”

“I know,” you retorted sharply, pulling your arm from his grasp.  “I know,” you sighed, your shoulders hunching up around your ears.

“Why’re you being so weird about it then?” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.  

You looked up at him with empty eyes, and he flinched.

“What if I have to load you on a pyre?” you whispered.

He blinked at you for a few seconds, such a myriad of expressions flitting across his face that you couldn’t distinguish one from the other.  

“What, you think I don’t think about that, too?”

You had forgotten that Jean could feel anything except blazing anger, and you hated yourself for it.  You clenched your fists at your sides and laughed shakily.  He looked at you askance, and you only smiled softly.

“We’re real fucked up, aren’t we?” you said, sinking down onto a block of stone at your side.  

He sat down next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“Yeah.”

You sat in silence for a few seconds, until you tilted your head to rest on his shoulder.

“I love you.”

He snorted, resting his head against yours.

“I love you too.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Is it true that there’s no Titan invasion?” Jean asked, uncorking a water pouch and taking a swig.

“Looks like it,” a Garrison soldier responded, running his hands through his hair.  “Things are really quiet for a Titan invasion.”

“I wonder if the guys are alive . . .,” Jean sighed, rocking back and staring up into the sky.

“‘Course they are,” you reassured him, grabbing the pouch from him and taking a swig yourself.  “Nothing can kill those guys.”

“Jeez,” someone from a group next to you drawled, and you turned to look, “we’ve come all the way here ‘cause it was supposed to be a full-blown emergency. . . .”

“And look what we found!” another group member chimed in irritably.  “It’s damn slow and peaceful here, huh!”

You scoffed, irritation sizzling in your chest.  Late into the day, when nearly all of the bodies had been burnt, a messenger had come from Commander Erwin.  Every troop that was able was to move to the Trost District, so they would be close enough to the supposed breach to be of assistance.

It had taken all night and half the next day to reach Trost from Sina, and now all there was to do was sit around and wait for instructions.

“Hey, Levi,” the first guy from the group said, going over to the Captain and clenching his fist at him, “where’s our prey?”

“Oh?” Levi responded disdainfully, propping his elbow up on the rim of the wagon he was reclining in.  “You guys look like you regret it’s peaceful here, huh?  Sorry for not providing you with a hot Titan date.  Well, you may be outta luck this time around, but you know . . . there’s always plenty of opportunities to go outside the Walls on a scouting expedition.”  The people surrounding Levi gulped and shifted nervously, shifting their gazes away from his piercing stare.  “So how about we all join forces and go fight Titans?  You know, you and us, together, side by side?”

You snorted again, watching the proceedings with an amused grin curling across your lips.  Levi had arrived with his “captive,” Pastor Nick, shortly after the bulk of the troops had settled in Trost.  The Captain’s leg still hadn’t recovered from his brush with the Female Titan, and so he had been shunted to guard duty.  He didn’t actually seem to mind much, seeing as he got to pester the bitchy Garrison soldiers about joining the Scouting Legion.  

“Well . . .,” the man responded nervously, “we, uh . . . we have our work to do inland, you know, so . . .”

Suddenly there was a great clamor from down the road, and a messenger came bolting up, shouting, “The vanguard squad is back!  Somebody, inform Commander Pixis!”

You and Jean abruptly stood to attention, and even Levi slowly rose to his feet as Commander Pixis and Commander Erwin emerged from the crowd, and when the messenger saw them he crumpled to his knees.

“W-We . . .,” he began, his teeth chattering, “found no abnormalities or breaches in the Wall. . . .”

“I see . . .,” Pixis sighed, leaning down to peer at the messenger more closely.  “I thought so.”

“B-But the situation is grave anyway!” the messenger continued, and both Pixis and Erwin blinked in surprise.  “When we were on our way back to Trost to deliver our report, we encountered the Scouting Legion forces led by Hanji!”  Levi visibly straightened, pushing his way through the crowd to stand directly beside Erwin.  “They had several new recruits from the former 104th Trainee Squad not equipped with the 3D maneuver gear . . . among those recruits . . . there were three . . . who turned out to be Titans!”

Silence reigned.  You stared at the messenger with wide eyes, and you swore your heart slowed to a halt.  You went through the list of the surviving 104th squad, rattling off names – was it Connie, Christa, Ymir, Sasha, Armin, Reiner, Bertholdt, Mikasa?

“Huh . . .?” Jean breathed, and before you could stop him he was barrelling through the crowd to stumble out in front of the messenger, wide-eyed and terrified.  “What the hell are you saying?!” he cried.  “There were . . . more Titans among them?!  Th-three, you say?!  Who?!”

“Jean, wait,” Erwin commanded, holding out a hand to stop him.  Erwin turned back to the messenger, and asked, “What happened after their identities had been exposed?”

“The Scouting Legion engaged the Colossal Titan and the Armored Titan,” the messenger replied, the words tumbling out of his mouth almost faster than he could sort them into a sentence.  “When we joined in the battle, it was already too late – and, in the end – Eren was kidnapped!”

“That fucking idiot!” Jean shouted, and you finally made your way to the front of the crowd.  “But you still haven’t told us who the fucking Titans were!”

“The trainees . . .,” the messenger panted, his eyes going glassy, his head swaying slightly, “were Reiner Braun . . . Bertholdt Fubar . . . and Ymir . . .”  With that, the messenger passed out.

Chaos ensued.  You were shouting, Jean was shouting, Erwin was shouting, Pixis was shouting, everyone around you was shouting in dismay, shock, fear.  Reiner, Bertholdt, and Ymir?  The ones you had trained with, fought with, eaten with, for three years?  Reiner, the one who had taught you how to tackle, Bertholdt, who had showed you how to clean your gear, and Ymir, the one who had befriended you first?  

No.  No, it wasn’t true.

You yelled as much, and for once, you were angrier than Jean was.  He ended up being the one to calm you down, pinning both of your arms to your sides and dragging you away from the crowd.  

“Get off!” you spat, wrenching away from him and nearly sprawling in the dirt.

“Would you calm the fuck down?” he hissed, stepping up to you and getting right in your face.

“It’s not – true,” you insisted, staring right back at him.  “It can’t be true!  They would never . . .”

But even as you were saying it, all the puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together.  The shifty glances, the hurried topic changes, the weird questions. Memories flashed through you, the times when you had thought of Reiner as your big brother, when you had shared a quiet joke with Bertholdt, when you had reflected that Ymir was your closest friend in years.  Anxiety ripped through your chest like a blade and you leaned against the wall of the house you were standing next to, your arms circled tight around yourself, your shoulders hunched almost past your ears.

It wasn’t true.  It wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t –

“But it is,” Jean growled, and you almost burst into tears.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Christa,” Armin said, “I’d like you to stay here, after all. . . .”

“I won’t, so don’t make me repeat myself,” she responded firmly.  “I can’t simply sit back while Ymir is being taken away.  You and Mikasa should understand that better than anyone, right?”

“Christa’s right . . . Armin,” Connie said, hugging his cloak tightly around him.  “We all have more than enough reason to pursue them.  I personally still can’t believe all that shit about them.  I refuse to believe that Reiner and Bertholdt are our enemies until I hear that from them directly. . . .”

You sighed.  

It had been five hours since Eren’s kidnapping.  Commander Erwin had picked a select group of soldiers to go up to the top of the Wall with him, and since you and Jean had been close to the trio of Titans, you had been picked to accompany him.  You peered off into the distance, squinting against the sunset, looking out over the lost lands of Wall Maria.  That was where you would be going.  Again.  

You did not relish the thought.

A rush of chatter followed Commander Erwin’s ascension to the battlements, with one shouting, “You arrived just in time, sir!”

“Is the situation the same?” he asked, handing the reins of his horse to an attendant.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier responded, and you went to take a look at the proceedings, beckoning Jean to follow.

And suddenly there was Hanji, risen from her bedsheets, grabbing the leg of the soldier who had been speaking to Commander Erwin.

“Hanji?!”

“G-Give me . . . the map. . . .,” she panted, and the soldier hurried to obey.  You gestured to the others, and the remainder of the 104th Trainee Squad jogged over to where Hanji was lying in front of a map, pointing to something on it with a shaky finger.  “There’s a forest of giant trees here, although pretty small.  That’s where you should head to . . . well . . . I doubt the Armored Titan would bother to cover his tracks in any case . . . still . . . there’s a very good chance they’re heading here.”

“What makes you think so?” Armin piped up, looking at the map quizzically.

“It’s a gamble, but . . .,” she managed, her breaths coming in short gasps, “even if they have the power of their Titan form, they’re still in danger from other Titans outside the Wall.  After all the fighting they had to do, they must be pretty exhausted – not as much as Eren, but still . . . it seems that even Annie had slept for a long time after her rampage.  Now, let’s assume for a second that their place of destination lies beyond Wall Maria.  Let’s also add to that the fact that at the moment they have no stamina left to cover such a long distance.  With that taken into account, their immediate concern should be finding a place to rest where Titans won’t reach them!  So that they can stay there at least until nightfall when Titans become unable to move!  You have time ‘till nightfall!  If you can make it to that forest before nightfall, you just might be able to catch up with them!”

“This is crazy,” you sighed as you and Jean rushed to restock on supplies.

“Yeah,” he said with a grin.  “But what do you say we go catch the fuckers who ruined mankind?”

You saw them, again, sitting in the mess hall, smiling at you.  You saw bodies, blood, leering jaws.

“Sounds pretty fucking good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 2 am and this is grossly un-edited i am sorry, i thought i would give you all a christmas present because haHA it's been a few months, hasn't it.
> 
> if you have prompts/questions, send them to my tumblr (new url!): stealyourpeacock.tumblr.com


	22. May Love Save Us From Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, once again  
> i've moved from adoration to hatred to detached nostalgia when it comes to jean, but ultimately i felt i should finish this for all of you who've made it this far

The formation was barely holding, as it was.  Despite Commander Erwin’s best efforts, the tightly knit group of soldiers wobbled and wavered, skipping and breaking up like a rocky stream.  The forest of giant trees loomed ever closer in the distance, marked by the countless Titans clawing at the tree trunks, reaching futilely up for something, something.

“That’s gotta be it,” Armin yelled from beside you, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.  “They have to be somewhere in there.”

All you could do was nod.  Your thighs were chafing from being so long in the saddle, the blisters on your hands from hauling corpses reopening on the rough leather of your horse’s reins.  Blood was running down your wrists and spattering on your sleeves, but you could barely even feel it; it wasn’t as if you hadn’t experienced worse.

Jean was grim and silent beside you, his teeth grinding furiously, his nimble fingers fraying the reins back and forth.  His horse was heaving, white foam beginning to form at the edges of its mouth, and yours wasn’t faring much better.  The team of soldiers had been galloping for a while now, trying to steal back the fading hours of daylight, and it was beginning to show.  Armin looked ready to pass out, his face pale, his hands shaking, while Mikasa was still as stone, her brow set, her hands clenching the reins so hard that they looked about ready to tear in half.  

The light was beginning to dim.  The blood red sun was dipping farther and farther below the horizon, staining the forsaken lands of Wall Maria a sickly pink. The forest was coming closer, and with it, the Titans, and your stomach was revolting in your abdomen, your 3DMG was bouncing uncomfortably on your hip, and the more you thought about it the more you hated the convoluted metal contraption, you were tired of rubbing the bruises each night, you were tired of the indents left by the harness, you were tired, you were tired, you were tired –

A sudden flash of light burst from in front of you, searing your eyes, you squinted to blink the dots from your vision and Mikasa was yelling, “Something lit up?!”

“Just now, inside the forest,” Armin confirmed, “there was a flash for an instant!  We can assume it’s the light from Titan transformation!”

“Did we make it in time?” Jean ground out, sweat dripping down his temples.  

“EVERYONE SPLIT UP!” a voice bellowed, as the Titans set upon them.  “FIND EREN AND TAKE HIM BACK!  WE CAN ASSUME THAT THE ENEMIES HAVE ALREADY TRANSFORMED INTO TITANS!” You watched as a member of the Military Police was plucked from his horse, easy as you please, and dropped almost thoughtfully into the Titan’s mouth, as if he were some fancy hors d’oeuvre and not a screaming, frantic human being.  “BATTLE IS NOT THE PRIORITY!”

“The military police, again?” Jean said, wincing as ear-piercing shrieks ground to sudden, gurgling halts.

“NO MATTER WHAT, RETRIEVAL MUST BE PRIORITIZED!  THE ENEMIES SHOULD BE HEADING OUTWARDS!” As you rode up, you saw the bellower was Hannes, a friend of the Shiganshina Trio, dangling by his 3DMG from a tree trunk.  “SCATTER!  FIND THE ENEMIES FIRST AND THEN NOTIFY EVERYONE ELSE!”

You, Jean, Armin, Mikasa, and Connie all leapt off of your horses in unison, careening deeper into the forest as the sounds of dying men faded behind you, when a sudden, bone-rattling roar erupted from in front of you, a horrible shriek that was just humanoid enough to send shivers crawling up your spine.

“A Titan’s cry?!”

“From inside the forest!”

And then you saw it, a small, black-haired, black-eyed Titan, clinging to the side of a tree like a monkey, its long, pointed teeth bared, its muscles rippling as it struggled to keep its grip in the wood of the tree trunk.  

“In a place like this!” a soldier near you grumbled, drawing his 3DMG, and you were preparing to do the same, your gut roiling, the scent of blood heavy in the back of your throat, when Connie’s voice stopped you.

“Please wait!” he cried, shooting forward in a cloud of gas.  “It’s Ymir!  It’s Ymir’s Titan form!”  You jerked to a sudden halt as Connie landed on the trunk next to the Titan, and as its jaw shifted your heart skipped a beat.  “Hey!  Ymir!  What happened?  Why are you alone?!”  The Titan – Ymir? – didn’t even glance at him.  “Where’s Eren?  What about Reiner . . . and Bertholdt?!”

“That’s Ymir?!” Armin cried as you dangled from a tree branch, your hands shaking as you saw the curve of Ymir’s nose, the curve of her lips when she bared her teeth, the tendons in her shoulders, reflected in this small, demonic-looking Titan who Connie was speaking to so conspiratorially.  

“Did she transform into a Titan and fight with the others?” Mikasa breathed, her eyes wide.  

“Ymir?!” Jean cried, lurching forward from his position beside you.  “Did you get away from Reiner and the others?!  Where did he go?!”

Ymir’s Titan only shifted her head upward, as if sniffing the breeze.  

“Hey . . .,” Connie said.  “Say something, you moron!”  He launched himself atop her head, landing a resounding kick right on the crown of her skull.  “We’re in a hurry!”

“Is she looking out for Reiner and the others?!” Armin mumbled.  “Something is . . . weird.  Why is she looking at us like that, one by one?”

“Ymir!” a high-pitched voice cut through the din, and the Titan’s head snapped up, its body straining away from the tree trunk as Christa rocketed into view, tears shining in her eyes as she cried, “Thank goodness . . . you were okay!”

Ymir leapt, and swallowed her.  Her long black nails made large gouges in the tree trunks as she leapt away, one of Christa’s boots falling out of her mouth and fluttering to the ground.

“She . . .,” Connie warbled, as your heart stuttered stupidly in your chest, “ate Christa. . . .”

Jean was the one to break you out of your reverie, giving you a resounding slap on the back as he cried, “Don’t just stand there!  After her!”  You flew after him, white noise filtering through your brain, the image of Christa, sweet, gentle Christa, disappearing amidst Ymir’s sharp fangs replaying over and over in your mind as you watched the lithe shape rapidly grow farther and farther away.  “So fast!” Jean cursed, pushing his gas to the limit as he sped ahead of you.  “She’s getting away!”

“Why did Ymir . . .,” Mikasa mumbled from beside you, her scarf fluttering around her face.  

“I never really . . .,” Jean yelled as he swerved below a branch, “thought she was on our side to begin with!”

“Yeah . . . she’s clearly against us!” Armin agreed.  “She’s working with Reiner and the others!  We got taken in by her!”

Suddenly, another blaze of light, another roar, a loud crash, shiny crystallized armor glinting red in the light of the setting sun, a small monkey-like figure clinging to its back, a smaller figure, Bertholdt, with someone strapped to him –

The Armored Titan began to run, heavy feet carving craters into the earth, and you and your squad stopped at the edge of the forest, watching it sprint away, and your heart was in your throat, making it difficult to breathe, your hands were slipping and sliding on the triggers of your 3DMG.

“This is bad . . .!” Armin yelled in dismay.  “Eren’s being taken away . . .!”

“Don’t stop!” a voice came from behind them, and Hannes swung around the corner, his teeth gritted in determination.  “Use the horses, go after them!”

You nodded along with the rest, and a chorus of sharp whistles resounded through the air, shortly followed by the soft thumping of hooves in the grass and nervous whinnying.  You detached your hook from the tree, using your gas to slow your descent as you landed clumsily on the back of your horse, urging the poor thing forward at a breakneck pace with the rest of your squad not far behind.  You let Mikasa and Armin take point, falling in beside Jean as you chased after the tall, glinting figure in the distance, its steps growing slower, the Titans around its feet managing to get some purchase before being knocked off.  

Hannes rode up beside Armin and Mikasa, and your squad was getting closer, the horses dodging nimbly around the foot-shaped craters, the screams of the dying Military Police and Scouting Legion starting to fade as the thick tree trunks gave way to sparse grassy plains.  

“We can catch up to his speed!” Jean insisted.  “We’ll make it in time!”

“But . . . if the ‘Armored Titan’ were to remove the hardened skin from his joint areas, he should be able to run faster,” Armin replied.  “If he didn’t do that . . . he probably wouldn’t be able to run long distances, but . . . at this rate, even if we catch up, we won’t be able to stop them.”  

“No . . . we’ll manage somehow,” Mikasa growled.  “This time . . . without hesitation.  I will definitely . . .  kill them.  And if she gets in our way . . . Ymir is no exception.  No matter what it takes . . . I have to . . .!”

You sidled your mount closer to Jean, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.  His face was caked in dirt, grime, and sweat, but his eyes were shining with determination,  his hair blown away from his face, his hands clenched tightly on the reins.  Your heart gave a little stutter, as an especially ear-splitting shriek erupted from the forest behind you.

“You ready, Horseface?” you called to him, shooting him a roguish grin as he glared back at you.

“Just . . . be safe,” he snapped back, and you blinked.  You were expecting an angry jab, an insult of some sort, but when he shot back with that, teeth grit and his brow furrowed, you had nothing to say.

“Y . . . Yeah,” you managed, before another soldier rode between you, and your gazes broke.

Commander Erwin was shouting commands from somewhere behind you, and he sped to the front, brandishing one of his blades and bellowing for the charge.  

You were almost upon the Armored Titan, and you slid your feet out of your stirrups, gathering the triggers from their holsters at your chest and drawing your blades.

Hannes struck first, leaping off of his horse and striking a blow to the back of the Armored Titan’s left knee.  The blade shattered against the hardened flesh, and Hannes swung away, cursing.  Other soldiers were beginning to swing up, latching onto the few scant trees that remained and slicing at the Armored Titan’s joints, to no avail.  

One soldier managed to dig his hook into the back of the Armored Titan’s neck, mere inches from Eren’s head (he was awake now, you saw, bound and gagged and looking about wildly), and the soldier began to rush forward, blades at the ready.  

Ymir plucked the hook from Reiner’s flesh as simply as one plucks out a thorn, and casually flung the soldier to the ground.  He landed with a sickening crunch, and you winced.

Mikasa abruptly swung from Ymir’s side as she was distracted, managing to slice one of her eyes out as she hooked into Reiner’s shoulder and pirouetted towards Bertholdt and Eren, murder lacing every inch of her posture.  

Ymir howled, a terrible, screeching sound, like 300 nails carving their way down a blackboard, and swung blindly for Mikasa, missing by at least three meters.  She howled again, as Bertholdt sped away with Eren in tow, shakily pulling his blades from their sheaths.  He stumbled up against Reiner’s clavicle as Mikasa landed with a jolt on an armored shoulder, coiling her legs to spring, and Bertholdt was yelling something, and faster than lightning, Mikasa was lunging, a large, armored hand coming up to block Bertholdt from view as Mikasa crashed uselessly against it, a wordless scream of fury tumbling from her lips as her blade shattered on the armored fingers.  

You launched yourself into the air, Jean not far behind, watching as your horse circled back out of danger.  You jerked your head up to look as another piercing scream cut through the air, Mikasa speeding out of the way of Ymir’s flying black fingernails.  She hooked into Reiner’s arm, circling out of range.  Faster than any coherent thought could have ever passed through your head, she was drawing new blades, and whirling towards Ymir.  

And suddenly Christa was there, perched against Ymir’s skull, crying out, and Mikasa skidded around her, landing roughly on the  back of Reiner’s skull.  The two of them were yelling to each other, but you could hardly hear it over the pounding of Reiner’s feet and the shouts of soldiers, and you didn’t dare get any closer.  

Ymir was soon screeching again, turning her head towards Mikasa, her teeth bared, but at a few short words from Christa she drew back.  

Your mind racing, you shot your hook into Reiner’s shoulder blade, swinging up to meet Mikasa as she launched herself off of Reiner’s head, shortly followed by Jean, Armin, and Connie.  The five of you landed on Reiner’s folded hands, resting lightly on his collarbone, concealing a wildly kicking Eren and an anxious Bertholdt beneath.  

“Eren, stop it!” Bertholdt’s muffled voice cried, but Eren’s kicks only grew in intensity.  “Don’t struggle!”

“That’s pointless, Bertholdt,” Jean yelled over the din.  “Carrying him like that is impossible, isn’t it?  He’s noisy and there’s just no helping him.  I know that quite well.  I hate him too, after all!  Let’s tie them together,” he suggested, a feral grin curling over his face.  “Well . . . come out.”

“Bertholdt . . .,” Mikasa pleaded, a quiver in her voice, “give him back!”

“Bertholdt, you asshole!” you shouted, banging futilely on the armored skin.  “Come out of there!  We were comrades, weren’t we?  We trained together, didn’t we?!”  You remembered it, all of it, his soft, fleeting smiles, the way sweat poured in buckets down his face at the slightest physical activity, you giving him your towels with a wave and a smile, assuring him that he needed them more than you did, the times you held his feet during crunches because he had to do laps when he couldn’t keep them down.  Reiner’s roguish grin, his loud, heaving laughs, the way he doubled over, chest heaving, at Connie and Sasha’s antics, his painful claps on the back that had once knocked Armin straight to the ground, his surprisingly nimble, quick fingers as he helped untie you from a knot in your 3DMG harness, the unabashed smile he shot you at your red faced thank you (you had never suspected he could be so gentle).

“It’s a lie, isn’t it, Bertholdt?” Connie wailed.  “Reiner?  Were you fooling us all along up until now?  That’s . . . cruel. . . .”

“Hey, hey,” Jean said, his voice strangely calm, “are you guys trying to get away like this?  C’mon, you guys . . . aren’t we comrades that shared hardships under a single roof together, three years back?  Bertholdt . . . it was so artistic, how terrible you looked when you were asleep!”  His voice was beginning to crack, the fist he had clenched against Reiner’s fingers shaking.  “At some point, everyone started to look forward to your next masterpiece every morning, we’d even predict the weather for the day that way . . . but . . . you . . . you sure slept quite soundly, didn’t you . . . considering you were a perpetrator, together with your victims.”

“Was it all a lie?!” Connie asked, voice wavering.  “When we all pledged to survive . . . when we said that we’d all live to become old men, and drink together . . . all of that . . . was it all a lie?”  Only silence answered him, and Connie’s jaw ground, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his blades.  “Well?!  You . . . you guys . . . what have you been thinking up until now?!”

“There’s no need to know that,” Mikasa’s smooth, emotionless voice cut in, her gaze hard as steel.  “Just concentrate on cutting their necks.  If you hesitate for even a moment . . . we won’t be able to get Eren back anymore.  They are a plague upon mankind.  And that is enough.”

“Who . . .,” a muffled, shaky voice emerged from within the fingers, “who!!  Who do you think . . . actually wants to kill people . . .?!  Who likes doing something like this?!  Who do you think wants to do this!  Being hated by people . . . even if we were killed . . . we did what was natural.  What is done can’t be undone.  But . . . we . . . couldn’t be forgiven.”  He was crying now, hiccuping sobs accompanying every other word, and you felt a lump growing in your throat.  “Only the time that we were acting as soldiers was . . . enjoyable. . . .  It wasn’t a lie!  It’s true that we deceived everyone, but . . . not everything was a lie!  I really did think of us as comrades!  We . . . have no way to apologize . . . but . . . somebody . . . please . . . somebody . . . I’m begging . . . somebody, please find us. . . .”

“Bertholdt,” Mikasa said, the chill in her voice sending shivers down your arms.  “Give Eren back.”

“I can’t,” he choked, and Mikasa drew herself up, fury in her eyes.  “Somebody has to do it.  Somebody . . . will have to . . . stain their hands with blood.”

Mikasa’s hands were on her blades, Armin was looking frantically at her, words on the tip of his tongue, you felt ready to cry and scream and yell all at once, when a voice bellowed up to you, “GET AWAY FROM THERE, GUYS!”  You all looked to see Hannes riding beside the Armored Titan, his face pale.  “Erwin . . . he brought all the Titans here!”  You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed.  Amidst your throes of sadness, a giant horde of Titans was cresting the horizon, speeding after a small team of Scouts on horseback, their giant footfalls jarring your teeth and filling the air so loudly that you couldn’t hear yourself think.  “YOU GUYS!  JUMP OFF AT ONCE!”

The five of you leaped off of Reiner in opposite directions, whistling on your way down and hoping, praying – your horse was there, whinnying frantically, and you landed clumsily on its back, scrambling for purchase as the saddle slipped beneath your feet.  You saw Mikasa land gracefully on hers, sliding her feet securely into the stirrups and wheeling her horse around.  

Armin wasn’t as lucky.  He missed his horse by only a few inches, skidding on the ground, yelping as he slid away from his horse, towards the Titans, you were yanking the reins, guiding your horse towards him, he was going to get trampled –

“ALL UNITS, DISPERSE!” you heard Erwin bellow.  “PULL AWAY FROM THE TITANS!”  

You yanked Armin onto your horse in one motion with strength you hadn’t known you possessed, jarring his small frame behind you as you urged your horse full speed away from the Titans, Armin’s small arms tight around your waist as you jammed your heels into your horses sides.

An earth-shaking roar erupted from behind you, and you couldn’t help it.  You turned to look.

Reiner was barreling headlong into the mass of Titans, with Ymir hanging on for dear life, blood and viscera flying as Reiner’s armor plating cut through soft flesh and bone, his lips bared in a ferocious roar that pierced your eardrums like knives.  He was knocking down Titans every which way, shoving them aside with sheer difference in weight, but there were too many, they were starting to latch onto his legs, dragging him toward the ground, and he looked as if he might roll, but he only skidded on a knee, pulverizing the Titan clutching onto it and knocking over several that had been in the way.  

Titans were grasping for Ymir, and she was batting them aside with all her might, clawing apart their faces with her wicked black nails, and a frustrated screech tumbled from between her fangs as another soon took the place of the one she had knocked aside.

Reiner was practically immobile now, his hands still clasped to his chest, and there were Titans all over him, chewing on his head and limbs, climbing up over his armor, their fingernails scrabbling over the hard crystals.  Ymir and Reiner were both roaring, their combined cacophonies shaking the ground and making your horse shy this way and that, and you grit your teeth against the din, unable to press your hands to your ears for fear of losing control of the animal beneath you.  You were abreast with the others now, all glancing back at the slaughter going on behind you, as the Titans completely ignored the humans skirting around their feet for the larger prize immediately in front of them.

Finally, finally, the squad reigned to a halt, swinging around to gaze in fear-stricken awe at the spectacle before you, a mountain of Titans heaped across Reiner’s kneeling body, only his face and parts of his torso still visible amid the mass of writhing naked bodies.  

“What is this?!” Jean cried, attempting to control his panicked horse.  “Is this hell?”

“No . . .,” Erwin’s powerful voice answered, reining up beside him and glaring resolutely forward.  “This is the beginning!  ALL UNITS!  CHARGE!”

“Wha . . .?!” Connie sputtered, as your heart all but ceased to beat in your chest.  He was ordering you to go back?!  Back into that heaving mass of Titans, that cesspool of death that you had just narrowly avoided?

“The fate of mankind’s existence will be decided by this moment!  Without Eren, the future where mankind can inhabit this Earth will never come!  We’ll take Eren back and return at once!  Put your hearts to the task!”  

Eren, Eren, you couldn’t believe you had forgotten about Eren.  He had been the entire reason you had trekked your ass all the way out here, and just like that, at the first sign of danger, you had turned tail and run in the other direction.  Shame burned in your throat and coiled in your stomach like bad whiskey.  What kind of a comrade were you, leaving your squadmate at the first possible opportunity?

Mikasa rode out first after Erwin, her gaze as determined as ever. You spotted Armin’s horse skittering around amongst the soldiers, and you urged him off of yours with a few soft words, pointing him towards his, and he thanked you quietly, grasping your hand for a quick second before running off.  As soon as Armin was safely atop his mount, you wheeled after Mikasa, beckoning for Jean to follow with a quick nod.  

You don’t know who started the cry, but you were soon taking it up, screaming your lungs out in a last declaration of defiance, raising your blade amidst the dozens flashing in the sunlight, and feeling a dreadful sense of finality in doing so.  

Reiner was still engulfed in Titans, but as the soldiers drew closer you saw him suddenly start to flail, both arms striking out at the Titans around him as he writhed and shimmied away from them, there was blood spurting through the air as he smashed skulls and pulverized bodies, and he began to move forward.

“There it is!” Jean cried.  “He released his hands!”

“Now’s our chance!” you shouted, your blood boiling with adrenaline, your mind a whirl of color and sound as the trees and plains whipped by you in a blur of green and brown.

“Hey, idiot!” Jean snapped at you.  “Can’t you see the Titans all around?!  Would anyone even be able to get over there?  Slipping through amongst all those Titans. . . .”

“ADVANCE!” Erwin cried once more, as his arm was taken off.

It was as if it had happened in a dream.  Erwin’s horse was suddenly empty, racing away as it shrieked in fear, and there was a Titan where it had been, and there was a suspiciously Erwin-looking figure dangling from its mouth.

Screaming burst from all around you, from Commander Erwin or the soldiers you could not distinguish,but the figure was struggling, tugging against the Titan’s jaws, he was alive, alive, his bright blue eyes were opening in defiance, blood caking the corners of his mouth and seeping through his shirt, but he opened his mouth wide, shouting the same command.

“ADVANCE!  EREN’S RIGHT BEFORE YOUR EYES!  ADVANCE!”

Reluctantly, you obeyed, leaving the Commander to die.

And then there were Titans upon you, and the screaming grew louder.

Horses were knocked aside, their last terrified shrieks cut off as more Titans trampled over them, there was blood flying through the air from all directions, and you tried to ignore the soldier being viciously dismembered just to your left, but it was a great deal harder to ignore when a piece of flesh bounced off of your cheek, leaving a bloody smear in its wake.

You frantically wove your way around the giant legs, the soldier just behind you was snatched off of his horse like a child grabs an apple out of a barrel, you could feel the rush of air as the arm flew over you, you felt warm blood splatter over the back of your head and grit your teeth.

At last, you were out of the knot of Titans, shakily pulling your feet from the stirrups and balancing on your horse’s back, blades at the ready.  Reiner was still fighting off Titans, but Mikasa was already swinging towards where Bertholdt clung to Reiner’s clavicle with one hand, holding a blade with the other, and he only managed to dodge her by a hair’s breadth.  She wheeled back around to engage him again, blades flashing, when a large hand enclosed around her abdomen.

But Armin was right behind her, screaming louder than you had ever thought someone that small could scream, yelling for the Titan to let her go, as he somersaulted and planted both of his blades into the Titan’s eyes.  The Titan loosened its grip, and Mikasa fell into Armin’s waiting arms, but she was too heavy for him, and they both went down, rolling to break their fall on the sparse grass.

You didn’t have time to check up on them, however, two soldiers had lunged for Bertholdt, hooking into Reiner’s pectoral and speeding towards him, when a giant crystallized arm smashed down on their wires, violently jerking the soldiers down towards the ground, and you almost thought you could feel their spines snapping.

Bertholdt was open, you could do it, right now, as Reiner was batting away a Titan, you could end it, right here, right now, but as you plunged your hook into Reiner’s shoulder you kept seeing it, Bertholdt’s easy smile, his sweaty forehead, and you couldn’t imagine it, splitting that neck down to the bone, seeing that easy smile caked with so much blood –

But Armin was there, perched on Reiner’s head, how, and why, you did not know, you hoped Mikasa had gotten somewhere safe, no, that was stupid, she would, definitely, she was Mikasa, and Armin was speaking to Bertholdt, a sadistic grin you had never seen spreading across his lips, and you swerved to avoid a Titan grasping for you, circling and bringing your blades down through the back of its neck.  You preoccupied yourself with keeping all of your limbs attached, fending off any Titans that got precariously close to where Armin was still speaking to Bertholdt, and time was going in slow motion, and Bertholdt was drawing his blades, screaming, his face contorted in agony, Eren bouncing helplessly on his back.  

And Commander Erwin was there, carving a gash through Bertholdt’s chest, severing Eren from his back and sending him tumbling towards the ground, and blood coated that face, that sweaty, anxious face that had always smiled at you, that had lent you his oversized jacket more than once during especially rainy training sessions, and Eren was falling, rushing towards the ground, his green eyes wide, but strong arms were around his waist, short black hair tucked against his shoulder, red scarf streaming like a rushing brook in the wind, she was twisting, hooking into the ground and vaulting them onwards, using her gas to slow their descent, pulling him onto a horse, her face contorted and blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth.

Erwin was there, too, arm profusely gushing blood, and you spotted Jean landing on his horse, yours was nowhere in sight, you knew your whistle would be lost amidst Bertholdt’s screaming and the roars of the Titans, you careened onto the back of his, jostling the poor animal almost to the ground and wrenching a stream of obscenities out of Jean’s mouth as you scrabbled at his waist to keep yourself upright.

“ALL UNITS, PULL BACK!”

You saw Connie scooping up Christa from the ground as Ymir leapt after them, long strides easily keeping pace with Connie’s horse, but she made no move to grab Christa back.

Foolishly, you thought you were safe.  You were clinging to Jean, blinking blood out of your eyes as his horse put ever-increasing distance between you and the fierce battle behind you.  You thought everything was okay.  You thought you and Jean were safe.

That is, until a flying Titan landed in front of your squadron, sending debris flying in all directions, effectively bringing the soldiers to a full stop.

“Reiner, that bastard,” Jean growled, turning his horse to look, “he’s tossing Titans at us!”

Another one landed a few meters from you, throwing Eren and Mikasa from their horse. Mikasa was curled up on the ground, blood running from her mouth as she clenched her fist in defiance, trying desperately to stand up, and Eren was lying on his side, struggling against his bonds.  Jean wheeled the horse around as a Titan swung at them, a Titan with the largest, creepiest smile you had ever seen, but Hannes beat you to it, slicing off the Titan’s thumb and careening towards its face, blades drawn.  

“After the old man!” Jean shouted, Armin and Connie joining you as you rushed to the scene, Mikasa furiously sawing at Eren’s bonds as he writhed with fury, his eyes blazing.  Another Titan crashed just to your right, and Jean wheeled wide around it, but there was another, its shadow blocking out the sun, and it barely missed you, sending pebbles and bits of dirt flying into your face as Jean furiously tried to steer his horse away from the projectiles.  As you looked up, spitting grass from your mouth, two more Titans were crouched in front of you, leering at you curiously, reaching for you with their long arms.

“Don’t get in the way, you fuckers!” Jean shouted, drawing his blades.

People were dying all around you, screams filled the air, through the haze of blood coating your vision you saw Christa, Connie, and Ymir fighting in tandem, you saw Commander Erwin crouched on the ground, a Titan looming over him, blood dripping from its lips.  

“THE ARMORED TITAN IS COMING!”

You could hear Reiner’s footfalls, the frustrated roar as he threw Titans off of him, and you dimly spied the smiling Titan still batting aside Hannes’ attacks, he wasn’t going to last long, and you tugged on Jean’s sleeve –

“Hurry!” Jean cried.  “Mikasa and Eren are . . .”

“JEAN!”

It was Armin, you thought.  For a split-second you weren’t sure why he was yelling.

You didn’t even see the Titan landing right on top of you.  

Soft flesh cracked into your skull and you were flung from your horse, rolling over the ground and you distinctly felt a few things snap, stones dug into your spine as you finally skidded to a stop, rising on one shaking elbow, ears ringing, everything hurting, to see Jean, lying still on the ground, with a Titan’s hand reaching for him.  

Wordless howls tumbled from your lips as you sprinted towards him, blade in hand, and you felt something else crack, but you were grabbing him, his limp, limp shoulders, and dragging him backwards, away from the advancing Titan, blade held shakily in front of you, and your vision was blurred, but it wasn’t blood, you were crying, furiously, your hand gripping him, cradling his head against your shoulder, and it was so limp, there was a large gash across his forehead, trickling blood down his face, and this couldn’t be it, it couldn’t it couldn’t it _couldn’t_ –

Roars were shaking the air, Titans were advancing on you, the closest one’s face inches from your blade, and you dragged Jean further back, colliding with a tree, and you choked on a sob, Jean was dead or dying and soon you would be too, but you would go protecting him, you would go ensuring his safety, your 3DMG was irreparably broken but you would still do it somehow, you would kill all of them, every single one that tried to hurt him, there was a fire in your veins, and you blinked away your tears, screaming out your defiance –

Yours was not the only one.  A mighty roar, a human roar, louder than any Titans, shook the very foundations of your bones, and the Titans abruptly lurched away from you, running towards the source, and you saw Eren running toward you, Mikasa on his back, as Titans swarmed the leering one, the one that had the blood of Hannes smeared on its chest, and it was soon consumed beneath a pile of other Titans, they were biting into it, tearing it limb from limb.

Reflex kicked in and you sheathed your blade, hoisting Jean onto your back ( _Christ_ he was heavy, but you couldn’t think about that now, you had to get him out, you _had_ to) and you were running, sprinting towards the nearest horse, yours was long gone, and you hauled Jean onto it, following the decidedly small party of people running away from the scene, and you dimly registered Eren shouting again, the Armored Titan being swarmed by the ones that had just eaten the smiling Titan, and Erwin was yelling.

“DON’T LET THIS CHANCE GET AWAY!  PULL BACK!”

You dug your heels into the horse’s side, and Jean was dying, dying, dying, his blood was seeping down the back of your neck and you adjusted his arms around your waist, ensuring he didn’t fall, racing after the dwindling figure of Erwin as he led the retreat, and the Armored Titan roared, a desperate, lost, horrible sound.

It was the sound of defeat.

* * *

The top of the Wall was horribly, horribly empty.  Only forty, maybe less, people were littered about, tending to the wounded, issuing orders.  

You had carried Jean all the way up the Wall, your borrowed gear straining with the effort of hauling two bodies, but in the end it had held out, and you laid him out on a pile of blankets as doctors swarmed around him, your whole body shaking as you held tight to his dirt-stained hand.

“Ma’am,” one of the doctors murmured, “maybe you should leave us to it.”

You shot him a look so murderous that he balked, backing away hurriedly and shooting his colleagues incredulous looks.  You didn’t care.  You returned to staring back at his face.

The two of you were still only eighteen years old.  Well, maybe.

“Doctor,” you murmured, and one of them snapped their head up towards you.  “What’s the date today?”

“March 31st, 850, Ma’am,” the doctor replied shakily.

You chuckled.  His birthday was coming up.

You supposed you could celebrate yours on the same day as his.  You had forgotten when yours was.  Birthdays, after all, were a trivial thing in the face of much greater problems.

He twitched.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you leaned over him, your heart stuttering wildly.

He opened his eyes, looked at you, and smiled.

“Asshole!” you screeched, before burying your face in his chest and starting to sob.  

“He-Hey,” he stammered, patting your back awkwardly.  “What’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_?!” you cried, jolting upwards and glaring at him so intensely that he gulped.  “You get knocked out by a flying Titan ass, almost get yourself devoured, _continue_ to withhold consciousness as we ride back to the Wall, and then you go and bleed from the goddamn _head_ like an _idiot_!”  When he only looked at you in confusion, you grabbed him by the blood-stained collar and brought his face up to yours.  “I thought I had lost you, you dumbass.”

You kissed him then, fiercely, tears still streaming down your face, and as he slowly sat up you wrapped yourself around him, kissing his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, anywhere you could reach, and after a while he started to laugh, his arms tight around your waist, hurting your ribs but you didn’t care, his skin warm against yours, so blissfully, blissfully warm.

“Geez,” he chuckled, pulling away for a second.  “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I hate you,” you growled, and kissed him again.

He was squeezing you, tightly, too tightly, the pain was starting to grow past the point where you could ignore it, and you pulled away, prodding at your ribs.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked, slowly, his eyes following your hand as it prodded along your chest, your arms, your collarbone.

“I’ve broken a few things,” you replied nonchalantly, running through the numbers in your head, definitely a rib, maybe two, at least one cracked, one of your arm bones was hurting more than it should, a fracture, maybe, and your collarbone had certainly sustained some damage –

“A few things?!” he cried, calling for a doctor, but you just rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t the one who lost consciousness,” you snapped as he herded you onto his bedroll, forcing you down with a hand on your shoulder as you attempted to rise.    
“Let them look at you,” he barked, his nails digging into your skin, but you only smiled.

“As long as you give me another kiss.”

* * *

“So,” Armin said breezily, as you perched on the edge of the wall, feet swinging off the edge, bandages wrapped around your chest and arm (three cracked ribs, a hairline fracture near the bottom of your humerus, apparently), “you and Jean?”

His words didn’t surprise you. At least a few had seen you practically leap sobbing into Jean’s chest, and news always spread fast among soldiers.

You hummed in reply.  “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing,” he sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin in his hands.  He gazed off into the distance, a wry, melancholy smile working its way across his mouth.  “Reiner owes me three coppers, is all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wHOO 6000 words i cannot believe how much i got into this  
> hope you enjoyed!  
> if you have prompts or questions, send them to my tumblr, stealyourpeacock


	23. Never Won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little chapter because i've been very busy all summer and haven't had much time to write so this is kind of a little in-between chapter until i can get things in order

The wagons of the wounded began their slow procession.

You were standing off of to the side with Jean, Eren, Armin, and Connie, with Christa crouched on the ground being given water, watching as your friends and comrades were carted away, thoroughly bandaged and bleeding.  Connie was collapsed on the ground, Jean crouched next to him, trying to get him up.

“C’mon, Connie, just a little bit more,” he urged, lightly shaking Connie’s shoulder.  He only groaned in response, his shaking hand pressed against his head.  “Stand up.”

“I can’t believe it . . .,” Connie moaned, tears slowly making their way down his cheeks.  “I’m . . . I’m still alive. . . .”

You sighed, shifting your arm in the sling the doctors had placed it in.  Making your way over to Connie, you crouched down next to him, a comforting hand on his back, giving him a wan smile.  Eren stood in front of all of you, watching the wagons recede into the distance, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I got captured again . . .,” he sighed.  “And because of that . . . how many people . . . died?”

You, Armin, and Connie exchanged worried looks, but it was Jean who spoke, “When we set out from here, counting the Stationary Guard, I think there were around 100 people.  Well . . . I guess it really was too much for the Stationary Guard, not having enough experience . . . unfortunately, most of them were eaten.  Beyond them I’m not too sure, but . . . there were about 40 people on the Wall just now.  And among them . . . only about half can stand and walk.  Even from the Scouting Legion, about half of the battle-tested veterans were lost . . . I wonder what’s going to become of us now. . . .”

Eren stared at the ground, jaw clenched.

“But at least there were no losses on the way back,” Armin said in an attempt at positivity.  “The Titans ignored us and kept going after Reiner.”  Eren looked at him, and something passed between them, borne from years of communication and understanding, and you could not decipher it.  “Plus, the Female Titan was able to shift the Titans’ attention to herself by crying out.  Back then . . . the one that directed the Titans’ attention toward the Armored Titan . . . was it you, Eren?”  

Eren stared at him, nonplussed, sweat beading on his brow.  “. . . I . . . I . . . back then . . . I didn’t know what was going on either.  What happened . . . I have no idea. . . .”

“Are you saying that you controlled the Titans?!” Jean asked incredulously, and you shifted uncomfortably.

“No, I still don’t. . . .,” Eren insisted, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“But if . . .,” Jean said, eyes widening, “if you really could do that. . . .”

“Is . . . is that true, Eren?” Connie asked, his voice wavering.  Eren and Armin were silent, and you started to gnaw on the inside of your cheek.  “I see . . . so that’s why the Titans headed that way . . . back then . . . if we had kept fighting with the Titans . . . everyone would have died.”

The only sound was the torch in Armin’s hand steadily burning down, and Eren lifted his hand, staring at it disbelievingly.

“I know that this is a tough spot to be in . . .,” Jean said, “Eren, in order to retrieve you . . . the Commander’s got his arm eaten . . . Mikasa’s ribcage was shattered . . . [First]’s arm got broken . . . plus that old man of yours and a good 6/10th of the soldiers died.  As to whether you’re worth that kind of price . . . I still don’t know.  The people that died in order to get you back . . . whether their deaths had meaning or not . . . it depends on you now, doesn’t it?”

The two of them stared at each other for a few tense moments, and you were wondering how you were going to break up a fight one-handed, when Eren sighed shakily.  “Ever since we entered the Scouting Legion you’ve really become quite preachy, huh?”

“Huh?!” Jean cried, brow twitching irritably.  “Stop joking around.  Aren’t you the one who’s all hesitant when you talk now?”

“It really is kinda gross, Jean, for you to become so serious all of a sudden. . . .,” Connie jumped in, nodding his head.

“What with your horse face and all,” you added, giving him a lopsided grin.  

“C’mon, you guys . . .,” he sighed exasperatedly, “you’re gonna treat the injured guy like this?”

“Thank you, Jean,” Eren broke in, his fingers curling inwards.

“Huh?!”

“Thanks to you,” Eren continued, clenching his fist, “I don’t need to hesitate any longer.  Just as you said.  I have to do something.  I’ll control the Titans.  And seal up Wall Maria.  I’ll capture Reiner and the others and make them pay.  I’ll see to it that the deaths of Hannes and everyone else are recognized as services to humanity.  That is what I should do as penance.”

“Huh?!” someone said from behind you, and you looked to see Christa rising shakily to her feet.  “Hey . . .”

“Christa?!” Armin cried, extending a hand as she wobbled shakily towards you.  “You can’t . . .”

“You’re wrong,” she breathed, swaying to a stop.  “My name is Historia.”  You blinked.  “Eren . . . let’s hurry . . . towards the Wall.”

“You shouldn’t be standing up . . .,” Eren insisted, but Christa clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine!” she cried.  “We have to get Ymir back!  If we don’t hurry, she’ll be too far away!  Aren’t you strong, Eren?”

“Hey . . .,” the woman who had been attending her broke in cautiously.

“Wait . . .,” Eren urged.

“Do something with your Titan power!” Christa went on, tears beading at the corners of her eyes.  All of a sudden she stopped, gasping softly and collapsing heavily on the ground.

“Calm down, rookie,” the attendant scolded her.  “Your body and soul are tired, now.”  

“Ymir was worried for you when she and I were taken by Reiner,” Eren said gently, crouching down to look Christa in the eye..  “She was thinking about how to ensure your survival.  Ymir was only thinking about you.  But . . . I don’t really understand . . . Ymir, in the end . . . went to the other side on her own will, right?”

Christa didn’t say anything, and dipped her head down.  

“I thought so, too . . .,” Connie mumbled, “that she went with Reiner and Bertholdt to save them. . . .”

“In the end, Ymir is really hard to understand,” Jean said, crouching down next to Eren.

“. . . I won’t forgive her,” she choked out, bowing her head even lower.  “Why – why did she . . . choose them . . . over me . . .?  Sh-She told me we were going to live together . . . for our own sake . . . but she still left me behind . . . traitor . . . I won’t forgive her. . . .”

“Christa?” Jean asked nervously.  “You’re not acting like your usual self. . . .”

She burst out laughing, gasping hysterically.  “Christa?!  Christa doesn’t exist – anywhere, anymore.  Christa was a role given to me to allow me to live.  She should be the girl that I’ve read about in a book . . . when I was a kid.”

“Just let her be, guys,” you said softly, nudging Jean gently with your foot.

“You!” she cried, her head snapping up to look at you, and you balked.  “You . . . you were with us . . . the whole time we were training, it was us . . . tell me . . . tell me!  Tell me why she left!  She always . . . she always talked to you!  Never to me!”

You crouched down, and placed a hand on top of her head.

“She never told you anything because she never wanted to worry you,” you said, and a sob bubbled up in her throat.  “She never wanted to make you sad.”

Her sobs echoed in the dark, empty night.

* * *

It was only after a full week had passed that safety within Wall Rose was confirmed.  The Wall’s population staggered out of the underground city they had retreated to, more than a little starved and bedraggled.  The stores of food had only been enough for a week, and as the days dragged on the rates of theft and assault skyrocketed.  When the Stationary Guards tried to evict the remaining illegal residents, a fight ensued, and the whole population trembled on the cusp of something much larger and deeper, like a pebble tottering on the edge of a cliff, before being quickly snatched up again by the government.  

Commander Erwin survived his encounter with the Titan, but with only around a quarter of his arm remaining.  He was bedridden for that entire week, the entire Scouting Legion on edge, holding their breath and preparing for the worst, because each and every one of you knew that Erwin was the only reason you all had made it out of there alive.

A day after the expedition Connie had gone out on an “investigative mission” with Hanji and a crew of her assistants, but no other information about the mission had been given.  “Top secret,” they said.

Connie came back looking haggard and broken, his eyes wide and frantic, and that same day he, Captain Levi and Hanji were summoned to Erwin’s bedside, while you, Jean, Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Sasha, and Christa had been ordered to pack up your possessions, and shoved into a wagon laden with boxes and crates of provisions whose destination none of you knew, preceded by a debriefing from Captain Levi and Hanji.

You were part of a new squad, you were told, whose sole purpose was to protect Eren and Christa – Historia, you meant – from the government and other opposing parties.  You hadn’t really grasped all of what Captain – Squad Leader now you supposed – Levi and Hanji had said, but you had understood that this was of great importance, that Eren and Christa – Historia, Historia – must be protected at all costs.  

The wagon trundled down a back country road, pebbles guttering between the spokes of its wheels, and Eren asked, “Where, exactly, are we –”

“Brat, if you ask me one more time, I am going to throw you off the back of this wagon,” Levi growled, and the rest of the trip passed in utter silence.  

As the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, the wagon rolled up to a dilapidated old farmhouse, with a thatch roof and stone walls surrounding it.  There was a stable tucked off to the side, and the whole thing was surrounded by tall dark pine trees, obscuring the building until you were practically at its doorstep.

The perfect place for a safehouse.

“We’re finally here,” you sighed, standing up in the wagon bed as everyone set to unloading the cargo, and stretching the one arm still available to you.  “No matter how you spin it, this is too far out from civilization. . . .”

“C’mon, Sasha, you take this one,” Jean said, handing her a crate.  

“What is this?  It’s so heavy!” she complained, staggering slightly as she adjusted her grip to carry it.  

“They’re filled with potatoes . . . aren’t they good friends of yours?”

“You . . .,” she said, giving him an exasperated glare.  “What are you talking about?  I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Relax, nobody in our class could possibly forget that.”

“There really is inflation all over, huh . . .,” Armin mused, staring down at the tin jug in his hands.  “If we lost these provisions, we’d probably starve to death.”

“Morbid as ever, Armin,” you joked, grinning as you somehow managed to haul a sack of what appeared to be apples over your shoulder.

“That’s right, Sasha, just try and steal some.  Squad Leader Levi would slice you into bite-sized pieces. . . .” Jean went on, shooting her a maniacal grin.

“Ugh . . . I won’t,” she snapped back, as the two of them made their way towards the door of the house.  “Maybe.”

“Huh?  Did you just add something?” Jean asked, about to follow her inside when you jumped off of the wagon, landing rather clumsily and swearing as you tried to regain your balance.  He turned to look at you, and you swore a blood vessel burst in his temple.  “What are you doing, idiot?!” he snapped, marching over to you, and yanking the sack from your shoulder.  “You shouldn’t be carrying anything!”

“Says who!” you shot back, attempting to tug the sack back, but having only the one hand to pull with made it difficult.  

“Says me,” he insisted, backing away from your reach.  “Just rest up before you hurt yourself.”

“I still have one arm!” you griped, glaring at him.

“If you want to help so bad, grab that,” he snapped, pointing to a sack only slightly bigger than your hand, and as he turned to go inside you resisted the urge to throw it at the back of his head.

Grumbling, you followed him into the house and dumped the sack onto the table in the kitchen.

“We really didn’t need to buy this much food, did we?  It’d be enough just to hunt in the mountains!” Sasha complained as she set her crate of potatoes down.  

“That won’t do, Sasha,” Armin reprimanded gently.  “Hunting is prohibited in this area.  If we got discovered and caused a disturbance then our hiding here would be meaningless.”  

“I . . . I get it,” she acquiesced.  “I won’t go hunting, alright.  Maybe. . . .”

“I heard that, you potato girl!” Jean barked, and you stifled a laugh.  

“You guys . . .,” a voice griped from behind you, and you turned to see Eren there, brandishing a broom like a weapon, with a white handkerchief tied over his hair.  “Did you clean off your shoes properly before coming in?”

“Huh?” Jean asked incredulously, looking him up and down.  “Of course not.  Can’t you see what we have our hands full with now?  Who cares about that?”

“You still don’t understand?” Eren asked nervously.  “Do you think this will satisfy Squad Leader Levi?  If I hadn’t made your bed for you this morning . . .”

“Shut up!” Jean cried.  “Are you my mother now?!”

“Unfortunately that job falls to me,” you sighed, grabbing him by the collar and jerking him back.  

His sharp retort was interrupted by Mikasa and Christa – Historia you corrected yourself for the hundredth time – walking through the door, Mikasa with an axe over one shoulder and a pile of wood over one arm, calling out a soft, “We’re back.”

“Huh?!  You went to chop wood?!” Armin cried.

“My body’s getting dull,” Mikasa responded as if this were the most obvious answer.

“You’re not a wild animal!” Armin insisted.  “You shouldn’t be moving about like that yet!”

“I’ve tried to stop her,” Eren sighed, “but she won’t listen.  She’s said she’s fully recovered.  To say nothing of splitting wood, she was doing sit-ups. . . .”

“What, were you watching?” you teased, winking at him.

“Huh?!” he sputtered, face reddening, and you laughed.  

“Somehow . . .,” Sasha said, leaning on the kitchen table and smiling softly, “it’s like we’re back to being trainees.”  

“Yeah . . .,” Armin agreed quietly, gaze downcast, “but . . . protecting Eren and Christa is an important task.  Even if we’ve lost many veterans . . . surely there are still many experienced and exceptional soldiers.  So why did we get selected for Levi’s squad. . . .”

“Perhaps because we’re quite exceptional?” Sasha supplied, her hand reaching into the bag at her side.

“Hm?  Sasha, did you put something in your bag just now?” Armin asked, leaning towards her.

‘Certainly nothing like bread or anything . . .,” she mumbled, inching away from him.

“Let’s finish cleaning up before Squad Leader and Connie get back . . .,” Eren broke in, but the rest of you joined in the increasingly heated debate over Sasha’s attempt at theft, with Sasha staunchly proclaiming that she had no idea how the bread had gotten there.

And for a moment, it was as if everything was back to normal again.  No Titans, no death, just a couple of kids horsing around in the scant few minutes they got between training exercises.

It felt normal, and it hurt.

* * *

Squad Leader Levi returned a few days later with Connie, Hanji, and her squad in tow, and he immediately sat everyone down in every available seat, and waited for everything to settle down.

He swept his hand under the kitchen table the 104th were seated at, and drew it up for inspection, wrinkling his nose in distaste.  “There should have been plenty of time . . .,” he began, and Eren smacked his hand to his forehead.  “Well . . . whatever,” he grumbled, wiping his hand off on a cloth he pulled from his pocket.  “We’ll return to the issue of your half-assed cleaning later.  We have some things to discuss.”  The whole table looked at each other curiously, and you got a queer feeling in your stomach.  “I’m not gonna beat around the bush,” Levi said gruffly.  “The Titans that were within Wall Rose used to be the inhabitants of Connie’s village.  In short, Titans are people.”

Silence.  Utter silence.  It was as if your brain had been reduced to nothing but white noise, your ears were ringing, your hands were shaking, your mouth went dry as bone.

“What . . .?” Eren breathed, eyes wide as saucers.  “You mean . . . all those Titans . . . they were . . .?”

Armin clapped his hand to his mouth, his face a pale shade of green, and Mikasa rubbed his back soothingly, her mouth set in a thin line.

You dug your nails into the grain of the kitchen table, reliving all those moments, when you had successfully downed a Titan, your blades sinking into its neck, and to think there was a human in there – and the satisfaction you had felt – the glee at making a kill – you felt sick to your stomach, and bowed over the wood, gnawing your bottom lip with your teeth.  

Jean’s calloused hand came to rest atop yours, squeezing hard, and you looked to see him staring at you, and in that moment the two of you understood.

You had been nothing more than murderers this whole time.  This whole time, you had been trying to save humanity, but you were really only participating in its extinction.  Every single Titan that had ever been, had been someone, someone with dreams and goals and a family and friends and a life they could have lived –

“A-Ah, Levi, we don’t know that for sure,” Hanji jumped in from next to him.  “We’re not entirely sure that all Titans are like this.  But . . . it is safe to assume . . . considering our recent findings. . . .” She lapsed into silence, hands clasped tightly in her lap.  

You thought about the number of kills, the competition to see who could get the most, Mikasa’s unwavering number 1 spot, you and Jean always fighting for fourth place below Annie and Eren.  You thought about how proud you had been, to see your number pass single digits.  

You wanted nothing more than to get up and leave the house and everyone in it, and walk miles off into the forest and just stand there and scream.  

“You brats can go for the night,” Levi said, a strange tone in his voice, “we’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

You were the first one to rise, chair screeching on the wooden floor, closely followed by the others.  Eren was gone, out the front door before you could take another breath, Mikasa and Armin trailing worriedly behind.  Sasha and Connie stumbled upstairs, their eyes empty and hollow, Connie’s hand tight on Sasha’s sleeve because this was old news to him by now.  Historia followed not long after, her expression still unchanging.  

You mimicked Eren, prying the front door open and taking large gulps of the cold night air, and you knew Jean was not far behind as you wove your way toward the stables, hoping beyond hope that the smell of hay and horses would wash the tang of blood from the back of your throat.

You curled up behind the bales of hay stacked in the back, and so did he, your shoulders brushing, and damn it all you couldn’t even cry.  

His head slowly came to thump on your shoulder, and you curled inwards, arms around him as he shook, because in the end, Jean had always been the more emotional one.

* * *

“We’re going to review the situation at hand and set some directions,” Levi drawled the next day, sitting at the head of a table full of tired teenagers.  “Well, a lot has happened during this short time, but our original objective has not changed.  In other words, we’d do well to stop up the hole in Wall Maria.  If that were to happen, then most other things wouldn’t matter.  Even if the guy next to you were to turn into a Titan.”

“Yes!” Sasha said rigidly, her posture almost painfully straight, bags still under her eyes.  

“Even if a fur-covered Titan were to come at you throwing rocks . . .”

“Huh . . .?” Jean mumbled, crossing his arms, feigning a return to normal, his hands quivering where they were tucked against his side.

“Or even if the inside of the Walls were filled with Titans. . . .  Oi, Armin.  You were saying if things went well, the Wall could be plugged up quickly . . . tell us about that again.”

“Yes . . .,” Armin began formally, eyes trained on the table, “the plan was to use the abilities of a Titanized Eren to plug up the hole in the Wall.  The Wall . . . appears somehow to be made from the hardened bodies of Titans, so if the mass of bodies necessary to plug up the hole could be produced right at the scene . . . if . . . such a thing were possible, then . . . there would be no need to continuously transport in large amounts of material by wagon like in previous plans . . . in other words, we could make plans to aim for the actual location, on a night where Titans were inactive because of the weather or whatnot.  If it’s just by horse, the road from Trost District to Shiganshina District could be traversed in a single night . . . if these ideals could be realized . . . then the time needed for a plan to take back Wall Maria . . . would be less than a day.”  The whole room sat in stunned silence, waiting for him to continue.  “But as expected, now that I say it again . . . it sounds about as likely as catching clouds.”

“Whether those clouds . . .,” Levi said, “can be turned into something all depends on this guy. . . .” He jerked his head towards Eren.

“Yes,” Eren said immediately.  “Understood.”

“You heard him, Hanji,” Levi said, turning to face her where she was seated in the armchair behind him.  “So then it falls to you to choose a suitable place for experimentation.”

“Yes . . .,” she said numbly, “of course, so long as I live . . . that is . . . my responsibility.”

“Huh?” Levi asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“Currently, the Garrison is patrolling the Wall with a general mobilization,” she went on.  “That requires an absurd amount of effort and personnel.  To say the least of security loosening in the Wall cities, at this rate they won’t even be able to maintain the peace.  That Wall Maria must be retaken . . . I believe that more than ever before.  I want to let everyone be at peace as soon as possible.  I want to create a world where people can live without fighting amongst one another.  Therefore . . . I don’t want to lose any time in testing Eren’s power.  Without reservations this time.  Of course, we must experiment with the hardening ability, as well as the specifics of Titan transformation.  There’s also the amazing possibility that he might have been able to control other Titans . . . if that’s really possible, then humanity just might be able to turn its current situation around!  Which is why . . .!  I can’t stand to sit like this!  We have to . . . move quickly!  However . . . I want Eren to keep a low profile for a little while longer. . . .”

“Huh?” Eren said incredulously, leaning forward.  

“But why is that?” Armin asked.  

“Well . . .,” Hanji sighed, “the situation is more complicated than we had thought.”

“C’mon now . . .,” Levi said, “I’m sure that since you guys came here, waiting has been like . . . struggling not to shit yourselves when it’s on the verge of leaking out.”  You bit your cheek to hold in your laugh.  “You’re even making those faces now.  As to why you guys need to keep waiting on shit . . . Hanji, tell us why.”

“Pastor Nick has died,” she mumbled, and you blinked, once, twice.

“Huh?”

“What . . .”

“This morning, within the grounds of the Trost military barracks,” Hanji continued, her voice rising in volume, “Pastor Nick was found dead.  The cause of death is unknown but . . . he was killed.  I thought that the Wall religion wouldn’t just leave Nick be, after he had cooperated with the Survey Corps . . . which is why I concealed his true identity and had him placed within the military barracks . . . to think . . . that they’d kill him by using the Military Police . . . I was too naive.  I have responsibility in his death.”

The room was silent.  Levi sipped his tea quietly, eyes heavy.

“Torture . . .,” Armin said, “the Military Police tortured Pastor Nick . . . were they trying to find out how much he had said to us?”

“Indeed . . .,” Levi sighed, “they must have asked whether he had revealed the connection between the Wall religion and the Reiss family . . . as well as the whereabouts of Eren and Historia.”

The two glanced at each other.  

“Of course,” said Hanji’s assistant squad leader, Moblit, “since the events of this morning, the situation has been shared with Commander Erwin, Commander Pixis, and the rest of the Survey Corps.  So now the Central Military Police is being monitored by us, so they shouldn’t be able to move too recklessly.  But looking at it another way, now they have any number of ways to find this place out, right?  Now we don’t know who is friend or foe anymore . . . when coming here today as well, we split up and made sure we weren’t followed . . . I think this place hasn’t been discovered yet. . . .”

“So . . .,” Levi asked, “have you been thinking about the preparations for Eren’s experimentation, Hanji?”

“Yeah . . .,” she answered slowly, “as soon as Eren’s Titan power became clear ‘something’ within Central has been moving desperately to get its hands on Eren.  However, after the disturbance this time, their sense of urgency has clearly changed.  They’ve walked into previously unentered territory and thought nothing of splitting the military into two camps . . . and moreover with everything within the Wall unsettled, as well . . . when you think about this situation normally, the comrades of the ‘enemies from the outside’ like Reiner and the others were really always in Central this whole time.  In other words, what we should really fear is a fatal stab in the back while we’re busy looking beyond the Wall.”  
“So?” Levi scoffed.  “Are you trying to say that we should just wait quietly and have a tea party or something?”

“There are still many things you can do inside . . . sewing and so forth . . .,” Hanji suggested.  “Please, just for now.”

“‘Just for now?’” Levi repeated, eyebrows lowering.  “That’s wrong.  It’s the opposite.  Do you think they’ll just give up as time passes?  They’ll find this place eventually.  If we’re just running away, the more time passes, the more we’ll be driven to the wall.  Hanji . . . you’re usually quite sharp.  However, after feeling responsible for Nick’s death, you’ve become a defeatist.  How many of Nick’s fingernails were torn?”

“Huh?”

“You saw, didn’t you?  How many?”

“I don’t know.  I could only see for an instant, but . . . as far as I could see, all of his fingernails were torn out.”

Levi whistled low.  “A guy that will talk will talk just with one, but . . . a guy that won’t talk will be the same no matter how many are pulled out.  Pastor Nick . . . I thought he was just an idiot, but . . . he didn’t deviate from what he believed in, even until the very end, huh. . . .  If chances are high that Nick didn’t spill, then . . . perhaps that ‘something’ from Central hasn’t taken notice that the Survey Corps is monitoring the Reiss family.  Well . . . as I see it, there are two ways to go now.  Go out before we get stabbed in the back or go out after eliminating the one that will stab us in the back.  Which will it be for you, Hanji?  Go out before getting stabbed?”

She looked down, jaw grinding, and silence reigned for a few moments.  But then she looked up, brow set, and said determinedly, “Both.  Let’s do both at the same time.”  
Everyone in the room leaned just a little bit forward.  

“Well . . .,” Levi said, leaning back in his chair, “that’s what Erwin would say as well. . . .”  Silence for a moment, until Levi turned his gaze upon Krista.  “Well, brat,” he drawled, but her expression didn’t change.  “I think it’s about time you tell us what your deal is.”

Her brows creased, a tiny bit, and it was as if everyone in the room was holding their breath.

“I was born on a small farm in in the northern part of Wall Sina,” she began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i hate using the [first] [last] things i hate doing it so much but it's necessary sometimes and i hate it
> 
> anyways this was very short and kinda story heavy and not a lot happened bUT this was just the exposition. more will happen soon, i swear
> 
> this has turned less into a shippy fic and more into "what would happen if i inserted myself into the snk universe"


	24. A Familiar Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so uh here we are, and basically the longer this thing gets the harder it is for me to write. the bursts of inspiration are few and far between these days, and i know that forcing it will just make it worse, but we're drawing close to where the manga currently is, and even closer to the good amount of chapters that don't concern jean or the rest of the squad at all, so i'm gonna do my best to churn out some chapters before that happens so i'm not actually prevented from writing by lack of content.   
> anyways, enjoy!

Historia spoke for a very long time.  

Her voice never wavered, her eyes never moved.  She sat there, at the head of the table, hands folded almost daintily in her lap, staring at the table in front of her as if she were trying to memorize every square inch.  What little of her eyes you could see through her wispy blonde bangs were cold, empty, like staring through a block of ice.  

She described the events of her childhood in almost nonchalantly detached detail, as if it had happened to a friend of a friend of a friend, as if what was spilling out of her mouth had not robbed her of everything, her home, her family, her name.  You listened, barely breathing, your mind struggling to keep pace, still reeling from the overload of yesterday’s revelations.

You stared into her face, trying to draw meaning from the lack of expression, from the slackness of the brows, the suspended emptiness of her eyes, and it hit you very suddenly that you did not know the person you were staring at.  

The girl who for three years had been constantly by your side, who you had eaten every meal with, the last person you talked to at the end of each day, whose seemingly endless range of emotions you had mapped and charted fifty times over until the slightest quirk of an eyebrow was enough for you to tell what she was feeling, and now, sitting at her immediate right, you did not have the slightest inkling of what was going through her head.  

It had all been a lie.

You looked for the signs, the obvious ones: the angry puffed cheeks, or the sad, practically imperceptible trembling of her lower lip, the wringing of her hands, how she would fiddle with a strand of her hair.

Something in the back of your mind was still whispering, tugging at the nape of your neck,  _ it wasn’t a lie, how could it have been, Christa was real, she existed, but she – she just – _

“She died,” Historia said, and at last, she looked up, straight at Captain Levi, who did not even twitch.  “Right before I was to be killed as well, Father made a proposal.  From then on, if I were to live quietly in some far-off place, he would let me live.  I lived on reclaimed land for two years.  I turned 15, entered the Trainee Squad . . . and met all of you.”

No one moved.  Historia settled back a bit, her eyes dropping once more, her hands smoothing out the creases in her skirt.

A sudden exhalation, and seven pairs of eyes turned to look at Captain Levi, sitting pensively, the ankle of one leg balanced on the knee of the other, arms crossed.  

“Kirschtein.  Braus,” he said brusquely, and both jumped.  “Grab some coats.  You two are on watch.”  The two of them blinked at him for a few moments, looking to each other and back to him incredulously, trying to process what he had just said.  Always the impatient man, Levi grit his teeth, and spat, “Didn’t you hear me, brats?  Watch.  Now.”

They scurried to their feet, saluted clumsily, and nearly trampled over each other on their way out of the room.  You felt Jean’s hand brush against the back of your chair, for less than a second, but what he was trying to convey, you could not tell.

Perhaps you were just too tired.  

“Arlert.  You’re with Four-Eyes.”  Armin rose, nodding slowly, sharing a quick glance with Eren and Mikasa before saluting and following Hanji out of the room.  The rest of her squad trailed after them, muttering quietly to one another before the door shutting behind them made the room silent once again.  “The rest of you,” Levi went on, “get started on dinner.”

What exactly “dinner” was supposed to be, and how the five of you were supposed to make it in any way edible with barely an iota of cooking experience among you, none of you knew, but you rose all the same, saluted, and exited without a word.  

“Okay, uh, what the hell are we supposed to do?” Connie asked nervously, eyes darting between Eren, Mikasa, and you, briefly landing on Historia, trailing behind all of you, before nervously meeting yours.  “You wouldn’t happen to be a secret culinary mastermind, would you?”

You shrugged apologetically, throwing a questioning look to Mikasa and Eren.  

“You always helped Mom with dinner,” Eren suggested, looking to Mikasa, but she only gave him an exasperated look.

“That’s only because you never did.”

“I was busy!”

“Getting beaten up.”

“I never asked you to help me all those times!”

“You’re right.  Mom did.  Which is why I never ended up helping with dinner that much.”

With Eren reduced to irritated grumbling, Mikasa, Connie, and even Historia were once again looking to you.

“Are you  _ sure  _ you don’t know anything about cooking?” Connie asked again, wringing his hands in front of him.

“Unless catching pigeons and rats and spit-roasting them counts, then no.”

“I mean, if you look at it in a unique light –”

“Listen,” Mikasa interrupted, expression serious, as if the five of you were discussing the plan to reseal Wall Maria instead of how to cook something that wouldn’t drive Captain Levi to murder.  “This can’t be that hard.  We’ll just make a soup.”

“Yeah, yeah, a soup!” Connie agreed, nodding eagerly, as the five of you stepped tentatively into the eerily clean kitchen.  “Soups are easy!  Right?”

You all stood in the center of the room in a circle, as if guarding against an attack, eyeing the brick stove and oven, the sink, the countertops, the rows of pots, pans, and knives hanging overhead.  The only recent experience any of you had with cooking apparatuses was what you had seen from behind a buffet line in a mess hall, but Mikasa was the first to move.  

“We need a broth,” she said matter-of-factly, dragging a large stock pot out from under the center table and setting it on the counter.  

“Well . . . ,” Eren said stubbornly, still desperately trying to be useful, “if we just throw some potatoes and chicken in a pot with some vegetables, it’ll turn into broth or something, right?”

The rest of you only shrugged, except Historia, who had planted herself closer to the door, leaning against the counter, arms loosely crossed.  

“May as well try it,” you sighed, rolling up your sleeves.  “Eren, Connie, you guys peel the potatoes and chop the other stuff.  Mikasa –,” you shot a quick glance at Historia, grit your teeth, “Historia, and I will work on getting a broth together.”  Historia looked up, but did not move, feet firmly planted on the cold wooden kitchen floor.  “Historia,” you urged, the name sounding foreign, wrong on your tongue, “do you know absolutely anything about making soup?  Anything?”

Silently, she stepped closer, arms steadily uncrossing to hang loosely at her sides.  “You throw some chicken and vegetables into a pot,” she said softly, eyes trained on the floor.  “You cover it with water and boil it until the chicken cooks through.  You throw the bones back in and cook for a while.  That’s all I know.”

“More than we do,” you said, the forced positivity in your tone sounding entirely unnatural coming from your mouth.  Mikasa gave you a strange look, and you gave her a pleading one in return.  “Come on, we should at least get something in the pot.”

* * *

“Okay, so, uh, what’s the whole plan with the Wall again?”

“You’re kidding, right?” you heard Eren sigh.  “Seriously, Connie – in other words, we have to experiment as discreetly as possible, and we have to eliminate anyone who gets in our way.  As for the details . . . uh . . . we’ll have Armin explain later.”  

“In any case . . .,” Connie said, his voice suddenly dangerous, and you heard the steady shucking sound of potato skins being cut away grind to a halt, “I have to kill that ‘Beast Titan.’  Ymir was saying that it was that monkey that turned my whole village into Titans, right?”

“Yeah . . .,” Eren agreed hesitantly, the peeling knife in his hands slowly coming to a halt halfway through a potato.  

“Ymir, too,” Connie went on, picking up another potato to peel.  “Treating me like a joke this whole time, when she knew so much.  To think that she could be that awful. . . .”

“You’re wrong,” came Historia’s soft voice, and all action in the kitchen stopped.  “Connie . . . she thought you would be hurt by knowing the truth about the village back then, so she tried her best to hide it.”

“Huh?” Connie said incredulously, missing the potato with his knife and nearly taking his thumb off.  “She wouldn’t do something like that.  Right?”

“I know her,” Historia insisted, still stirring the pot of chicken broth with utmost concentration.  

The four of you exchanged a mutual look, and returned to your individual tasks in silence. 

The steady  _ thok _ of Mikasa’s knife against the cutting board as she chopped vegetables, the sloshing of water as you scrubbed dusty plates, cups, and spoons in preparation for their use, the steady almost scratching sound of Eren and Connie’s peeling knives, combined into a barely noticeable, yet albeit comforting, rhythm, and you almost wanted to close your eyes and take a moment to breathe in the normalcy of it all. 

Until, of course, the front door opened with a bang that seemed as loud as a gunshot, causing all of you to jump.

“God, am I hungry,” came Jean’s loud, raucous voice, and you rolled your eyes.  

“Ah, ah!  I smell food!  I smell food!” you heard Sasha cry ecstatically, and the two of them barrelled into the kitchen, eyes ravenous, but they both skidded to a halt when they saw the five of you, Christa over a wildly steaming pot, you in front of the sink, sleeves rolled to your elbows, Mikasa brandishing a large knife, and Eren and Connie peeling potato after potato, adding them to the ever-increasing mound at the other end of the counter.

“What . . . are you making.”  Jean was looking at the pot boiling over the open flame like it was a box of lit dynamite, but Sasha was looking around eagerly, nose in the air

“Don’t make that face, you pissbaby,” you scoffed, brandishing a butter knife at him as Sasha weaseled her way over to where Christa was standing, her hand inching towards the pot for a hunk of chicken.  “You’re gonna eat this goddamn potato soup and you’re gonna like it.”

“Potato soup,” he repeated, looking from Sasha nursing the fingers that she had burnt trying to fish chicken out of boiling water, to the chipped plates and cups resting in the sink, to the vegetables bobbing at the top of the boiling stock pot.  “Do any of you have any idea how to make potato soup.”

“No,” came the unanimous response.

“Great.  Good.  Wonderful.  We’re all going to die.”

* * *

“Frankly, brats,” Captain Levi sighed, letting his wooden spoon clatter onto the table, “it’s shit.”  You, Eren, and Connie all went white, and you tried to decide how you could make your last words as dignified as possible.  “But –” and here he sighed, wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin, “– it’s not the  _ worst  _ thing I’ve ever consumed.”

A collective sigh of relief went around the table, and you all gave each other congratulatory nods and half-smiles.  For today, at least, you had managed not to dig your own grave.  

Levi was about to bark at you all irritably, lip curling into a scowl, when Historia abruptly rose, bowl and spoon in hand, and left the room.  You all looked at each other for a few heartbeats, and Levi sighed, rocking back in his chair.

“Someone has to talk to her,” Armin said softly, his large blue eyes soft, sympathetic.  “We can’t keep living like this.”  He looked around at everyone, thinking.

“Don’t look at me,” Captain Levi spat exasperatedly.  “I don’t have time to play therapist.  But if I had to say –” he studied the table’s occupants shrewdly, “– don’t ask Kirschtein, he’s never had any hardships his entire life –”

“H-Hey – !”

“– and Springer is too emotionally stunted to offer any sort of assistance –” Connie flinched as if he had been struck, “– Ackerman’s too scary, Jaeger has the emotional delicacy of a three-year-old, Arlert’s stuck with Four-Eyes, Braus is on watch –”

“Again?!”

“So that leaves . . . .”

You felt a shiver go through you as those steel-gray eyes of his met yours.

“You’re kidding.”

“You were friends with her and Ymir,” Armin agreed quietly.  “You probably know her best out of all of us.”

“I knew  _ Christa, _ ” you insisted.  “I’ve never met  _ Historia  _ in my entire life.”

“They’re still the same person,” Armin persisted, eyes pleading, hands coming to rest on the top of the table.  “‘Christa’ is still a part of her, however small.  Just appeal to the part of her that you know.”  

“I – I can’t –,” you stammered, mind spinning, because how the hell were you supposed to do this?  How do you even  _ start  _ a conversation like that?   _ ‘Hi, how are you, my parents weren’t all that great, either?  I know my mother wasn’t, you know, murdered in front of me or anything, and my father never made me abandon my name so I wouldn’t be brutally killed, but let’s have a heart-to-heart anyways?’   _

“She’s right,” Jean sighed, crossing his arms and nodding.  “She’s probably the least emotionally conscious person I’ve ever met –”

“Can it, Kirschtein,” you growled, standing aggressively, your chair screeching on the floorboards behind you.  “You wouldn’t know sympathy if it knocked all of your teeth out.”

“I’m sorry, who  _ dislocated my jaw  _ on the first day of training –”

“You had that coming and you know it –”

“If both of you don’t shut up  _ right now, _ ” Captain Levi snarled, “I will personally ensure you are used as Titan bait.  Am I making myself explicitly clear?”

Thoroughly cowed, the two of you nodded, and you hastily exited the room, feeling as if you had just stared into the face of Death itself.  Huffing, you crossed your arms moodily, looking around the front common room for any sign of where Historia had gone.  Peering out of one of the side windows, you saw a lone figure sitting on the edge of the one of the watchtowers, legs dangling over the open side.  

Sighing, you grabbed two coats from the hook on the wall, tugged one over your shoulders, and, bundling the other under your arm, shouldered your way out the front door.  

You trudged over the frosty grass, your footsteps crunching loudly in the crisp evening air.  Your breath was coming in white puffs, and you were beginning to wonder just how longer this goddamn winter chill was going to last before spring decided to show its face.  The pine trees encircling the cabin swayed slightly in a cool breeze, their needles whispering like a thousand scratchy voices, and you hunched your shoulders closer to your ears.  The moon was nearly full, casting a pale glow over your surroundings, and it glinted in Historia’s eyes as you reached the bottom of the watchtower’s ladder, and began to climb.  

“Here,” you panted, lobbing the spare coat up to her, and she caught it deftly, but instead of putting it on, she just stared at it.  “Go on, put it on,” you urged, pausing in your climbing to gesture with one hand.  She only blinked at you.  “Jesus,” you sighed, vaulting over the last couple of rungs and planting yourself next to her.  “You’ll catch a cold.”

You pried the coat from her cold fingers and laid it over her shoulders, clasping the first button under her chin to ensure it stayed, and tugging it over her arms.  She stared at you the whole time, her gaze never leaving your face as you fussed with the clasps and buttons, and you felt like you were trying to put clothes on a corpse.  

“Why?” was all she said, the word leaving her lips in an undulating white puff of carbon dioxide.  

“Just put your arms through it,” you replied.  “Can you imagine how pissed Captain Levi will be if you get sick?”  

She complied silently, wiggling her arms through the sleeves and numbly closing the last few buttons.  She wrapped her arms around her middle, and hunched down into the garment.  Another white puff of air curled over the top of the collar, floating off into the night, and it may have been a “Thank you,” but it was spoken too quietly for you to be sure.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, watching the wispy clouds as they traced their path among the stars, their edges limned by the moonlight.  She was shivering, you noticed suddenly, her shoulders quivering, her fingernails making tiny scratching sounds against the coat’s fabric as her hands shook.  

“Where did you get that ring?” she asked unexpectedly, loud enough to be clearly heard, and the sound was strange amongst all the quiet.  

“It’s a long story,” you sighed, drawing your hand out of where it had been stuffed in your pocket to stare at the silver ring resting on your middle finger, flexing your wrist from side to side to watch the moonlight glimmer over its shiny metal surface.  It was just a band of silver, no inscription, no design, nothing, and you weren’t even sure if it was  _ real  _ silver or not, but you had been wearing it for so long that whenever you took it off it left an imprint that refused to go away.  “But I suppose that’s what everyone says about a lot of things.  I suppose I’ll have to start at the beginning for any of it to make sense.  As long as you, you know, care.”

She was staring at you again, the moonlight turning her eyes into cold silver pools, but you stared right back, trying to read something, anything from her expression.  

“You listened to me,” she breathed, and you dropped your gaze, sighing again.  

“I was born somewhere within Wall Rose.  A town not too far north from Trost, I think.  Or maybe in Trost itself, I don’t know.  My first memory is being in a wagon, on a bumpy road, in my mother’s arms.  I was probably . . . three years old or so.  My father was a merchant, so we traveled with him from town to town, as he tried to sell his wares.  Funny . . . I don’t even remember what he sold.  Eventually, my father managed to make some good money, a wealthy customer, or something.  We moved back to Trost, and we were the richest merchant family there.  As rich as an upper-middle class merchant family can be, anyway.  I was stuffed in petticoats and pretty dresses, and taught to be a lady.  I had always been running around with the local kids in all the towns we lived in before, picking fights and all that.  As soon as we settled in Trost, I was almost never allowed to stray far from my mother’s side.  I remember there was this really irritating kid there, who would always yell insults at me when my mother and I were at the market.  I never got his name, but he was always calling me a ‘frilly idiot.’  I don’t blame him.  I was always dressed up in the most ridiculous things.  

“For some reason, when I was around 10 or so, we left Trost, and went to live in Jinae, this little southern town.  It was when I was living there that the news of Wall Maria being broken into reached us.  I was 13.  It was a day or so after the incident, and we had already started to notice the refugees filtering in.  Jinae was small, and it filled up fast.  There were people littering the streets, begging for scraps, and there I was, with my rich merchant parents, confident in the fact that I would have something to eat for dinner that night.  I had never felt so guilty in my entire life.  

“A year later, when the government was enlisting people for that insane attempt to reclaim Wall Maria, my parents were drafted.  I was 14, near military age, and I volunteered for the free food and lodging.  Without my parents’ business, I would have to live on the streets, and being the pampered rich kid that I was, that was about the worst thing in the world to me.  

“I don’t know why I thought war would be any better.  I’ll spare you the details, but . . . I was one of a very small number to survive.  My parents died pretty early on.  We were just south of the Trost District when it happened.  20 or so Titans managed to sneak up on a group of around 40 soldiers.  Soldiers is a loose term, actually.  We were just a bunch of country farmers and city dwellers who had nowhere else to turn, given a week to train for battle.  Most of us weren’t given full 3DMG, just horses and the blades.  All we were instructed to do was cut the Titans’ Achilles’ tendon so the real soldiers could finish them off.  

“I was a coward.”  You paused, reflecting, and laughed dryly.  “I couldn’t even get close, I was so terrified.  I jumped ship and tried to hide in a house, which collapsed on top of me.  I lay there, so close to death, for hours and hours.  From the pile of rubble I was under, I could see the sky.  I thought that was going to be the last thing I would ever see, a tiny sliver of smoke-choked sky between destroyed buildings.  I remember the footsteps of the Titans, vibrating through my bones.  I remember wondering when they were going to find me, when it was all going to end.  

“I don’t remember all that much after the retrieval team finally found me.  I remember being hauled up the Wall, in so much pain that I kept on crying and crying.  I remember someone telling me that my parents were dead.  I remember them pressing this ring into my hand.  And I’ve worn it ever since.”  You studied the band of silver more intently, observing all the scratches and dents sustained over the years and years of labor.  “I’ve considered getting rid of it sometimes.  But whenever I go to throw it away, I . . . can’t.  I don’t know why.”

Your story finally told, your vocal cords vibrated to a stop as the last syllable thrummed through the air.  You stared at Historia, who had a strange look on her face.

“Did you love your parents?” she asked, and the pointedness of her tone made you blink.  You gulped against a sudden lump in your chest, as if Historia was pressing her thumbs right onto your sternum.

“Yes,” you said, suddenly, and the truth of it struck you like a blow to the face.  “Yes, I . . . I guess I did.  Even though Mother was always . . . neurotic, tense, gripping my arm when I wasn’t behaving as she wanted, her . . . her smile was so kind.  Even though she could be so horribly, horribly mean . . . she was kind when it mattered.  

“Father . . .” You wrinkled your nose.  “He used to bring me sweets.  Even after a long, stressful day, he would always bring me something.  He wasn’t always the nicest man, he would drink himself into a rage and he almost never listened to anything anyone else had to say, but . . . .”

“Does Jean know?”

The question took you completely by surprise, and you faltered for a second, stammering, “Does Jean know what?”

“About this.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” you said.  “It’s a common sob story.  I’m sure he’s heard a hundred others like mine.”

“You’re not the others.  You’re you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“If he wanted to know, he would ask,” you grumbled, turning away from her to stare at the distant tops of the trees swaying in the breeze.  You did not like where this conversation was going.  You were beginning to feel like you had swallowed a rock, and it was weighing you down inside your stomach.

“He doesn’t want to see you in anymore pain.”

You had never known “Christa” to be particularly observant.  She had always seemed like she was spread too thin to notice the tiny details, too occupied with the situation at hand, with possible outcomes, with the wellbeing of her friends.  She had been transient, fleeting, never staying in one place long enough to take notice of small things.

But, as you were beginning to realize, Historia was vastly different.  She was stationary, still, like a rock in a streambed, watching as the waters flowed around her and taking note of every change in flow, of every wave and ripple.  You wondered how often those wide, heavy eyes had settled on you and Jean, on your heated arguments, on your poor attempts at affection, on the small tender moments, gone in the blink of an eye.

“Since when did you start being so wise,” you grumbled, and at that, she smiled, a small, barely noticeable thing, but the moonlight was fully illuminating her now as it climbed steadily in the sky, and you saw the barest twitch of the shadows around her mouth, saw the skin of her lips stretch slightly before she buried her face back into the collar of her coat.  “We should go back,” you said, brushing your fingers lightly against her sleeve.

She nodded, standing with you, and following you down the ladder, tiny feet landing daintily in the frozen grass.  You trudged back to the house in silence.

The warmth of the living room was like heaven after the frigid night air, and the two of you breathed it in, shrugging the coats off of your shoulders and tugging the boots from your feet.  

You were turning, about to go seek out Jean, when you felt a tiny tug on your sleeve.

“Thank you,” she said, and Christa was there, just for a moment, in the tilt of her head, the small glint in her eyes.  

She turned, and walked away from you.

* * *

“Did I ever tell you where I got this ring from?”

You knew what the answer was, and yet the question still tumbled from your lips, unbidden, and Jean looked up at you from where he was cleaning his 3DMG, eyebrows furrowing.  

“No. Why?”

You started to twist it again, the silver ring on your finger, rubbing over a particularly large dent with the pad of your thumb.

“I guess I have a few things to tell you.”

* * *

“Did I ever tell you where I got this ring from?”

You knew what the answer was, and yet the question still tumbled from your lips, unbidden, and Jean looked up at you from where he was cleaning his 3DMG, eyebrows furrowing.  

“No. Why?”

You started to twist it again, the silver ring on your finger, rubbing over a particularly large dent with the pad of your thumb.

“I guess I have a few things to tell you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You finished, and realized that he could not understand.  It was obvious in the way he licked his lips nervously, how he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, in the way his hands kept fluttering, trying to decide what comforting course of action they should take.  

He had never lost anything.  His parents were alive and well, trying to return to normalcy in a district that had been overrun by Titans what seemed like yesterday, trying not to notice the persistence of the human-sized bloodstains on the cobblestones, against building walls, splattered on the rooftops.  He did not know what it was like to lose absolutely everything, to wake up one morning without someplace to go back to.  He was not familiar with the absence of things, with the grueling reality of not having something that was once readily available.  He was not acquainted with the kick-in-the-teeth feeling of an empty stomach where once it had been stuffed to the brim, with the gut-churning taste of spit-roasted rat, with the bloody fingernails and scratched palms of pigeon hunting.  He did not know what it was like to be a 14 year old girl totally alone in the world.

“What did you do . . . after?” he asked, in lieu of something else, something that he could not put into words, something he could not form.  

“I tried going back to Jinae.  Tried to get my house back.  It had already been claimed by the government, and around 15 refugees were living in it.  I wandered aimlessly around Wall Rose, all along the southern side and up a little into the north.  I spent a month or so in Sina’s underground, too, as part of a smuggling operation I managed to get caught up in.  Lived on rats and pigeons and whatever I could steal or scavenge.  When I turned 15, I enlisted into the military.  You know the rest from there.”

And he was still staring, still staring, and all of a sudden you wished for a wide open space, unbroken by cities or towns or Walls, and you wished you could walk and walk and walk and never have to stop.  You wished you never had to come toe-to-toe with a monolith of stone, you wished you could look at the horizon and see nothing, nothing at all, nothing breaking the seamless line between ground and sky.  

It was the kind of crazy, manic urge that is unexplainable, sudden and startling, like an intense wave of claustrophobia in a tight space or the shiver that goes through your hands, the twitch in your spine when violence beckons at the back of your skull.  

You felt 14 again, lost and alone, with nowhere to go and everything to run from.  You wanted to bolt past Jean and out the door and dive headfirst into the pine trees, you wanted to run and run until your chest was burning so hard that you couldn’t breathe.  Perhaps he saw it, for a second, the wild, animalistic look in your eyes, because he tensed, ever so slightly.  His hands stilled, his spine straightened, his eyes took on the cautious, vaguely fearful look of someone encountering a feral beast.  

You swallowed, tamping everything down into a little box tucked underneath your ribs, and you imagined your leather-booted feet stomping your fear into the dirt, grinding it into dust with your heel.  

Perhaps not the healthiest method, but effective all the same.  Your fingers drummed rhythmically twice on your pant legs, and the movement caught his attention, breaking his eyes from yours, and the responsibility came back to you in a rush.  Your duty, your honor, your debt to the military and every single thing that implied.  It was less sudden, less like a brick to the face, and more like the realization of just how heavy something you’ve been carrying for a while truly is.  More like the crash after an adrenaline rush, the sensations slowly starting to come back, your body sinking back down into the ground again.  

You stood, and he jumped, about to rise, too, until you settled in his lap and a small, choked noise gurgled from the back of his throat.  

“Could you kiss me?” you murmured, eyes searching his warily as your thumbs came up to brush at the sides of his face.  “Please?”

He snorted.  “Idiot.  You don’t have to ask.”

His lips found yours, with not nearly as much force and passion as you were accustomed to, and your eyes fluttered shut, a hum escaping from the back of your throat.  You dragged yourself closer, arms around his neck, hips shifting against his, and the grunt that elicited vibrated against your teeth.  His lips were soft and warm, his hands gentle and familiar, and the amount of stability that this reckless horse-faced idiot had brought into your life made you want to laugh and never stop.

You stifled a giggle, moving your mouth slowly against his, and you could feel his hands brushing at the hem of your shirt.  His fingers ghosted against your stomach, pressing experimentally, and you sighed, dipping your head down to pepper kisses against his jawline.  

“I love you,” you whispered against his throat, his carotid artery bumping against your lips, and it relaxed and terrified you in equal measure, because one day it would stop and there was a more than likely chance that you would be there to see it.  “I love you.”

He snorted, encircling his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him.  He kissed your collarbone, nose nudging at the crook of your neck.  “Don’t scare me like that, you idiot.  I love you, too.”

There were many things you wanted to say, all of them inane, useless, or impossible, things that could never happen or most certainly would.   You could not promise each other anything, nothing at all, not that everything would still be okay by sunrise, and not even that you would be alive to see it.  Still, you wanted to, and maybe it was some evolutionary fluke of human nature, to want to set things in stone, even when the stone was more like wet mud sliding down a steep incline.  You so badly wanted to create an illusion of stability, a fervent, mad belief that everything would be okay, in the end, eventually, when all of the evidence stacked on top of you had long ago proven otherwise.  

Perhaps he knew, somehow, and because Jean had never been one to follow the rules of convention, and because he had always tried his hardest to do the exact opposite of what he was told, he sighed against your skin.  

“Don’t die,” he whispered, and you went very, very still.

* * *

 

Eren’s experiments began the next day.  He was brought out to a ravine, with high stone ridges and a cracked earth basin, miles away from the cabin.  Mikasa and Armin were set to guard him down at the bottom, Hange, Levi, and their squads observing from atop the ridge, while Jean, Sasha, and Connie were sent out to scout the perimeter for Military Police, with you acting as messenger.  

You watched as Eren’s Titan form crumpled to the ground, barely 10 meters tall and billowing steam like a pot about to boil over, most of its lower half reduced to haphazard chunks of sinew and muscle.  Eren hadn’t even fused completely, most of his body left dangling free in the open air from where his face was attached to the back of the Titan’s neck.  

You heard Mikasa cry for Eren as the Titan settled, steam nearly obscuring her and Armin as they wheeled their horses. around.  

“What’s wrong, Eren?!” Hange called from the ridge, voice anxious and excited all at once.  “Are you done already?!”  The Titan did not show any sign of response or understanding, did not even move at all save for an arm breaking loose from the body and disintegrating as it hit the ground.  “Stand up!” Hange cried, the sound warbling and cracking.  “Humanity’s future depends on you!  Stand up!”  Levi spoke a quiet word to her, gesturing down to the rapidly disappearing Titan form below them, and you saw Hange grit her teeth.  “I know that already!  Eren! Can you still move your Titan?!  Give us some sort of answer!  If you don’t answer, we’re gonna get you out of there!”  

Mikasa’s tiny figure was already galloping forward below, with Hange and then Levi following suit.  The depth of the ravine swallowed most of their voices, but by what little of Hange’s fanatical yelling you could hear, you didn’t think it was going well.  Or it was.  You were never sure.  

But all of a sudden her voice rose from below, “The experiment is over!  All units, pull back!”

Taking your cue, you wrenched your horse around, galloping for the tree line.  Jean, Connie, and Sasha were only five or so minutes in, and you shouted as you spotted them, “We’re pulling back!  Scout around the area!”

Jean grumbled to himself, but obeyed, he, Connie, and Sasha pinwheeling away from each other in three opposite directions, with you left in the middle, huffing and decidedly harried, with no clear idea of what you were supposed to do now.  

Cursing, you turned back around, weaving your way through the thick pine trees back to the ravine.  You caught the tail end of the wagon procession making its slow path to the cabin, Eren, Historia, Mikasa, and Hange presumably inside, and you fell into formation beside Moblit.  He nodded to you, and you dipped your head back, preoccupied with all the smoke you could still see floating in the sky  It would be painfully obvious to anyone watching that something a tad more suspicious than hunting was going on in these mountains, and you gulped at the thought.  It would be easy, far too easy, to discover Eren like this, but you knew that whatever you thought at this point meant less than shit, so you decided to keep your mouth shut.  

As soon as the wagon was in sight of the cabin, Mikasa burst from the back, Eren on her shoulders.  Her face was set in a firm grimace, skin a shade paler than normal, and Hange tumbled out after her with a yelp, jogging to catch up with the younger woman’s long strides.  Levi and Historia edged out after them, the former decidedly annoyed, the latter as expressionless as ever.  

The remnants of the squad started to head for the stables, and you joined them, sliding off of your horse and guiding it into its stall, removing its saddle and bridle and giving it a quick brush before plopping down against a post to wait for Jean and the others to return.  

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, turning the sky a dull reddish-black, and you could just see the faintest hints of stars peeking through the gloom.  The last member of Hange’s squad had gone back in, the slamming of the front door echoing over the treetops, and you listened to the silence warily.  The horses shifted in their stalls, shuffling through their feed buckets and nickering softly to each other.  They were well lathered from a long day’s work, the smell of them coiling up your nose, but years of riding and maintenancing the things had made you practically immune to the stench.  

Hoofbeats sounded from the narrow dirt road leading to the cabin, and you straightened, ears straining.  You had been waiting all day to tell Jean how stupid his hat looked.  

A lone horseman emerged from the trees, face hidden against the fading sunlight, and you were immediately on your feet.

* * *

The eight of you were gathered around a single candle, jostling for room to get a better look at the paper clutched in Eren’s hand.  Shadows flickered across it, making your initial reading disjointed and nonsensical, but after elbowing Sasha sharply in the ribs you were able to get a better look, and immediately wished you had left well enough alone.

“Has everyone read it?” Levi asked quietly, one hand resting expectantly on the table between you.  

“Y. . . Yeah . . .,” Armin responded, gulping as Levi snatched the slip of paper out of Eren’s hand.  “Squad Leader Levi . . . is this . . .?”

“Erwin’s orders,” Levi said curtly, touching the paper to the candle flame and watching as it started to catch.  “Do you all believe in him?”  The question was meant with a silence positively  bursting with meaning, and Levi made a small grunting noise.  “Well, come on then, you idiotic believers.  We’re leaving.”  

It was fifteen minutes later, when the nine of you had just scaled the first hill, that you first saw the flames.  

“Close one . . .,” Connie murmured, watching, brows furrowed, as a group of five men advanced on the cabin, torches in hand.  “If we had decided to stay for tonight, too . . . what would have happened to us?”

“Squad Leader,” Armin said quietly, as the thatch roof quickly caught fire.  “Are those guys Central Military Police?”

“Who knows,” Levi replied with a lazy shrug.  “To think that they’d come here directly, though . . . I’ve been underestimated.  Let’s hurry to the meeting place.  It’s a good thing the moon’s out.”  

Connie and Armin backed away from the hillside, the growing blaze casting strange shadows over their faces, and turned around to follow the rest.  You shifted the long rifle against your shoulder, the fabric of your cowl rustling.  You had had this ensemble prepared for such an occasion for months now, but the reality of actually having to dig it out and employ it had become sort of surreal.  The fact that an elite group of inner-military soldiers was actively after your life hadn’t quite sunk in yet, and maybe it never would.  You were so used to your only enemies being Titans that humans opposing you seemed trivial, at most.  

You shifted the rifle again, the polished wood digging into your shoulder, and you missed the lightweightedness of your 3DMG.  You hadn’t used a rifle since training, and hoped beyond hope that one of your comrade’s lives wouldn’t end up depending on your iffy marksmanship.  Though, with how these things always ended up turning out, that would most likely be exactly the case.  

You huffed, hunching deeper into the thick fabric.  You would think about these things later, when your shoulder wasn’t quite as sore and your neck quite as sweaty.   The dewy grass was slick under your boots, and you grit your teeth to concentrate on making it up the next incline, knees flexing with the effort.  

The cabin you had called home for three months was burning to the ground, and you did not look back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! alright so uh yes there you have it. i honestly don't remember much of what happens next in the manga but i know it doesn't involve jean very heavily so you can look forward to more of those dumb improvised scenes!
> 
> until next time, and thank you guys so much for being so patient, even when i'm a piece of shit and don't deserve it, it really means a lot to me.


	25. What Heroes Become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha....ha....yeah so i bought fire emblem: fates. and it. well. consumed me. so the updates that i promised are going to be a little more spaced out because i spent so much time playing fire emblem, and i was just very tired and emotionally elsewhere this week. but i promise that the in the rain update is coming very soon, most likely within a week after this is posted, because i'm very excited to wrap that fic up.
> 
> so yes, here is more of this, the fic that has been going on for so long that i'm almost sort of hoping that jean dies so i can have something more interesting to write about
> 
> because this filler stuff is really fucking boring and i'm cutting as much of it as i can without losing plot coherency, but i still.....have to get through so much of it........it drains me. i put in lil jean/reader moments where i can but as things pick up there will be less and less opportunity for such things.
> 
> so. fuck. but i got myself into this mess and i'll be damned if i don't complete this fic

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Horseface.”

“Yeah, yeah, get off my back already,” Jean whined as he surveyed the dark brown wig in the mirror, scowling as he tugged lightly at it.  “All I have to do is be captured, it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

“You know what I mean, idiot.  Don’t let them find out that you’re not Eren.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, before striding over to roughly muss your hair.  “I’ll be fine.”

“You  _ better  _ be, or I’ll resurrect you just to kill you again myself.”

“And on that romantic note –,” he mocked, grabbing his coat from where it was hanging over a chair and walking to the door, “– are you coming, or what?”

“ _ Are you coming or what?”  _ you parrotted, pitching your voice to match his, and you easily dodged his grab at you, laugh ringing through the room.

“Hey, idiots,” Captain Levi snapped, poking his head through the doorway, and you both immediately stiffened to attention, trying to keep the smile off your face.  “Keep it down.  We’re in a hotel in enemy territory, not a luxury.  Why don’t you start acting like it.”  With that, he was off again, and you and Jean both slumped, sighing.  

“Will do, sir,” you mumbled, saluting lazily, fist tapping against your chest.  You walked toward the bed, picked up your pack from off of it, and joined Jean at the door.  “Let’s do this, Kirschtein.  You ready?”

“Naturally,” he sniffed, adjusting his wig slightly, and you shifted the bag heavy with your gear on your shoulders.  “Just be ready to get out of there as soon as they snatch me.”

“Please, we’re in the Scouting Legion, running is what we’re best at,” you joked, and he frowned as the two of you made your way out of the room and down the hallway.  “What I’m really worried about is your wig flying off as you’re yanked away.”

“Yeah, well, with how much glue Connie put on it I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get it off.”

You thumped him on the back, sending him stumbling forward a few steps, eliciting a rage-filled glare, but you only giggled.  

“We better get going,  _ Eren.” _

* * *

Trost wasn’t, to put it nicely, doing well.  You trudged down the dusty streets, huddled close to your comrades, casting furtive glances at the dilapidated buildings around you.  The market district you were currently traversing was borderline decrepit, with very few of the many stalls lined up on either side of the street actually selling anything.  People wheelbarrowed vegetables down the street, men haggled for fish that didn’t even look safe enough to eat, and starved dogs scurried to and fro, sniffing for scraps.  

You were passing in front of two men standing outside a storefront when one of them called out to the group, bald head wrinkling as he frowned.  “Hey . . . you!  Aren’t you Levi?!”

Levi side-eyed him coolly.  “Huh?”

“It really is!” another man exclaimed, pushing forward.  “I’ve seen him before, too!  It’s humanity’s strongest soldier, Levi!”

A crowd had started to form, consisting entirely of men, penning in your little group of soldiers and peering over you, eyes glinting.  You edged back slightly, bumping into Connie, and when he saw the wild look in your eyes he gave you a curious look.

“Hey, he’s tiny . . .”

“I’ve only ever seen him on horseback . . . wow.”

Levi’s jaw ground, eyes set dead ahead in a blank stare.  “You’re in the way.”

“Captain, please listen!” a shopkeeper with a handkerchief covering his head pleaded, stepping in Captain Levi’s way.  “As wretched as we are, please listen to us.  We missed a lot of work, thanks to that flashy evacuation plan of yours.”

“It’s not just us,” another man piped up, looking down at Levi, but the height difference did nothing to make him look more intimidating.  “With the growing distrust with a city against the Wall, nobody comes around anymore.  If we can’t make any money, we can’t eat.  The garrison went off somewhere, and thieves came in their place.”

“And despite all that,” the first man continued, dipping his head and placing a hand to his face, “taxes are as high as ever.  What should we do?  Why did this happen?” He stared directly at Captain Levi, gaze hardening, and your heart rate quickened.  “Why have the Titans attacked again and again?  We know why.  It’s because you in the Survey Corps aren’t working hard enough.” The crowd of men was pressing closer now, and you all pressed closer to each other, backs bumping.  “It’s like this . . . if I don’t earn any money, it’s my own fault.  Putting in the effort but not getting what you deserve is commonplace.”  He was leaning more and more towards Levi as he spoke, but the Captain was unfazed, staring blankly back, eyes fixed resolutely to his.  “But you guys are different, aren’t you?  You can eat even without doing anything or producing any results.”

The other men nodded in agreement, mumbling to each other and throwing biting remarks.

“Hmm?  Walking this street, all high and mighty, on a shopping trip, huh?”

“Bringing women along, too, you’re sure sitting pretty.”  Sasha shied away as the man approached her, and you shot him a murderous look to disappointingly little effect.

“If you guys have any conscience at all, give us your money and leave.  The Survey Corps have taken far more than they deserve, after all.”  Levi’s gaze had finally begun to wander, scanning the streets to either side, and all of a sudden his expression stiffened, eyebrows lowering, eyes widening in alarm.

“Hey!  Watch out!” he cried, and all you stared at him confusedly, hands reaching for your weapons, glancing around helplessly at the now sizeable crowd of people surrounding you.  

“Huh?” the man the with the handkerchief over his head said softly, his eyes taking on a dangerous look.  “Who are you watching out for?   _ Humanity’s strongest soldier!”   _ He grabbed Levi’s collar, yanking him upwards and grabbing him with both arms.  Levi’s body twisted, foot flying out to catch the throat of another man who had been approaching, fists raised.  

“A wagon’s coming!” Levi shouted, struggling to free himself from the man’s hold, using all of his body weight to fling him and his captor out of the way.  

It was then that you felt the rumble of the wheels in your feet, and you slid out of the way, looking back up to see two of your party being viciously yanked into the wagon by their armpits.  

“Ah!” Sasha cried, face contorting strangely as she regained her balance.  “Ar  – uh, I mean – Christa and Eren – they got captured again!”

The rest of you crouched on the ground, hands reaching for your gear, watching as the wagon careened away.  Sasha reached out in mock distress, Connie attempting to look equally as shocked.  

Amidst the cloud of dust you tugged out your holsters, your hooks shooting out with a soft hiss, and with a click of your finger you were off, holding your breath against the dust.  You could feel the presence of your other group members around you as you swung onto a rooftop, out of sight.

Before the dust had cleared from the roadway, your group was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Regardless of what anyone else claimed, rooftops were goddamn uncomfortable.  You shifted uncomfortably, casting another glance at the buildings and streets around you, and looked to where Levi was stationed with a view of the warehouse.  Your group had followed Jean and Armin – “Eren and Christa” – to an abandoned warehouse on the far side of the town’s factory district where it butted up against the river.  Levi had instructed you all to do regular perimeter checks while being as discreet as possible, and to leave the immediate area around the warehouse to him and Mikasa.

Speaking of, she had just landed on the roof next to Levi, boots somehow making almost no sound on the metal, gas dissipating behind her as Levi said something quietly to her.  She responded brusquely, turning away from him to stare hard into one of the warehouse’s windows, eyes narrowing.  Your heart beat a frantic tattoo in your chest.  If things were going bad for Armin, then they were going bad for Jean, too.

Levi nodded, and glancing over to where you, Sasha, and Connie were perked, he gave the signal.

Nodding, all three of you launched yourselves off of the roof toward the warehouse, gear whirring as you landed smoothly and fanned out to the the air vents protruding upwards into the sky.  You and Sasha took the one on the far end of the building, jamming your 3DMG blades under the rim and yanking upwards to pop the top off like the lid on a crate.  

Nodding to her, you shimmied in first, torquing so your gear didn’t clang against the metal, and slid down, hands braced against the sides.  It smelled like dust and mold and you held your breath, crawling along the passageway towards the main room, where you could hear the distant murmur of voices.  

“ . . . sure it’s Eren and Christa . . . ?”

“ . . . matched the descriptions . . .”

You popped your head out of the air vent and immediately drew it back when you caught a glimpse of the room.  Boxes were piled high all around an area in the center of the building, cleared away except for two chairs which Jean and Armin were currently tied to.  Three men were talking outside the warehouse’s large entrance doors, and Jean and Armin were glancing around nervously, obviously wondering when their rescue party was due to arrive.  Poking your head out again tentatively, you saw Mikasa drop behind a pile of boxes, gaze dark, Levi not far behind.  

Looking behind you to where Sasha was waiting, you nodded, and slid out of the vent, hopping down to the floor below and hoping you hadn’t made too much noise.  Judging by the continued conversation, you didn’t think so, and made your way over to the ring of boxes, listening intently.  

“And you checked to make sure they’re not just disguised?”

“ . . . Well, not yet . . .”

“You stupid asshole.  This better not turn into another one of your fuck-ups.”

“. . . I apologize, sir.”

“Don’t report back about them just yet.  This is our last chance, we can’t afford any mistakes . . . huh?”

“Where’s the guard?”

You stiffened, casting an anxious glance back at Sasha, who just gave you a helpless shrug, eyes wide.

“Anyways . . . how shall we handle this?”  You heard the rustling of cloth, what sounded like sleeves being rolled up.  “Let’s start by stripping them of every last thing they have –”

A grunt, the cracking of bones, a surprised “What?!” and you rapidly stood, whipping around the corner to see Mikasa leaping onto one of the men like a wild beast, knocking him bodily to the ground, with Levi coming up behind another one, grabbing him by the throat and yanking him down hard onto his back.  Sasha was already scrambling up the boxes, bow in hand, a cluster of arrows clenched between her teeth.

You ran to where Jean and Armin were tied up and began severing the ropes, large blades clumsy as you tried not to nick their skin, and you glanced up to see Mikasa going for the leader, crouching down to wrap her arms around his waist and throw him to the ground.

Jean and Armin were up, newly-severed ropes in hand, and rushing to where Mikasa and Levi had the three men pinned down, two of them knocked unconscious.

“Shit –” the leader swore, struggling uselessly against Mikasa’s iron grip, as Jean and Armin worked on tying the hands of the other two. 

“Hurry!” Levi barked, scanning the room apprehensively, and Mikasa cast a glance up to the top window.

“Connie!” she yelled.  “Are you sure there are only three of them?!”

“Yeah, that’s it!” Connie yelled back, shaved head poking through the window.  “No one else is around!”

The leader grunted, struggled, and drew a gun from the inside of his jacket, pointing it upwards at Mikasa, and you jolted forward, blade ready to throw –

An arrow struck it directly in the handle just as Mikasa’s hand clamped down, and you whipped around to see Sasha, perched on top of a tower of boxes, forehead damp with sweat but hands rock-steady as she readied another arrow, eyes sweeping the battlefield for additional threats.

“W-Woah!” Jean cried, staring from the man to Sasha and back.  “You could have hit me, you idiot!”

“It’s not my fault you took your eyes off the target!” she retorted, lowering her bow to sneer at Jean, and his teeth ground, mouth opening to prepare an angry retort before Levi cut him off, standing and crossing his arms.

“That’s it, brats.  Looks like, somehow, this all worked out.”  He nodded to you all, and you set about dragging the mostly-unconscious workers to the edges of the room, laying them in neat rows and propping a few of them up against the ring of boxes, the leader included, his eyes wild with fear, arms shaking with the effort of trying to free himself from his restraints.  “You the boss of these guys?” Levi asked as you and Sasha threw the man back into the boxes, his head bouncing off with a dull thunk.  

“No!” he responded immediately, eyes brimming with tears.  “I’m just the chauffeur filling in for someone.  I’m just a regular old man . . . so please, sir . . . I don’t know anything . . .”  He cast a glance around the assembled Survey Corps soldiers, and as his eyes passed over Mikasa a spark of recognition came to life in her eyes, and her expression darkened.  

“Back then . . .,” she murmured, “blocking the way . . . this is the guy.”  She pointed a finger at him.  “His men were calling him ‘president’ around town.”

“Damn,” the man swore, face twisting, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“Well, then . . .,” Levi sighed, bending down slightly, “Mr. President . . . I’m finding myself strangely uncomfortable in this hideout of yours . . . how about we head somewhere else?”

“Whatever you say . . .,” the man grumbled, gaze trained off to the side, his brow heavy with sweat.  

“I think your men can hang out here for a little longer,” Levi continued, looking over as a choked noise escaped one of the other men hauled up against the boxes.  “Hey, Armin, fix his gag.”

Jean made his way over as Armin removed the strip of cloth, and the man began to speak, saliva dripping down his chin.  You couldn’t hear what he was saying, his voice was too low, but whatever it was had Armin backing away and Jean placing a hand on his shoulder, face tight.

“What are you two doing?” Levi called back.  “Hurry up.”

* * *

It was dark, cold, rainy, and you wanted to go home.  You huddled at the edge of a ravine, hood pulled far over your face, but even that wasn’t enough to keep the spray of the rainstorm out of your eyes.  

“I would ask why we’re here,” you grumbled, squinting at the path up the opposite cliff face which was just barely visible amid the rapidly descending droplets of water, “but if I have to hear the mission briefing one more time I’m gonna tear my own head off.”

“Can it,” Jean grumbled, huddling closer to you for warmth, and you snorted.  “It won’t be much longer.”

“I just don’t understand how we’re supposed to see the caravan in this downpour,” you said, huddling right back, but with how wet both of your cloaks were the action only succeeded in making you colder.

“We listen, stupid.  Even with all the rain, the wagons, horses, and all the guys should be pretty fucking loud.”

You only grumbled to yourself, unwilling to concede that he was right, and he bumped your shoulder a little harder than was necessary, stifling a laugh.

“Oi.  Brats.  Save the lovemaking for when we get back.  We have prisoners to collect.”

“Yes, captain,” you both intoned, and rose to your feet, trying in vain to shake some of the water off of your cloaks and readying your gear.  You were choosing to ignore the lovemaking bit for the sake of the mission, but it wriggled in the back of your mind like an earthworm on hot pavement.

As soon as you stopped moving, you could indeed hear it, the rumble of wagon wheels, the nervous whinnying of horses, the frantic shouting.  You all gathered near the edge of the cliff, bodies poised, waiting for the crash.  

As soon as it came, the sound of wood splintering and rocks crumbling, you launched yourself forward, shooting your hooks blindly in front of you, and swung towards the dim shape of the wagon in the distance.  

You, Sasha, and Connie swung for one falling human figure, Jean, Mikasa, and Armin for the other, as Levi held back and checked that no one happened to be peering into the ravine.  As the man’s weight crashed into your arms, you heard Reeves shouting up above about the rain and how it wasn’t his fault, the military men had rushed them, and you would have laughed if you weren’t out of breath from trying to lug a fully grown man up a cliff face.

Soon enough, though, all of you were back on solid ground, and, carrying your designated target between you and Sasha, you trudged back into the forest, out of sight of the abruptly halted wagon caravan.

You sighed to yourself.  Dealing with the Reeves company had been risky business, and from what Sasha told you Mikasa came very close to throwing him off the top of the Wall, but in the end, it had worked out.

The wheels were starting to turn, and you were trying to pretend that it didn’t frighten you down to the bone.

* * *

It wasn’t long after settling into the basement of the abandoned countryside house that the screaming started.  Connie jumped, clamping his hands over his ears and bowing his head, and you grit your teeth as the screams rose in volume and pitch.  You knew this was coming.  You had prepared for it, braced yourself for it.  But no matter how much preparation you made yourself believe you had, you were never prepared enough for the real thing.

It was amazing how quickly you forgot just how awful human screams were.

“It finally started, huh . . .,” Jean grumbled, voice tight, bracing his elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand.  “Geez . . . I was dead set against the Titans, but before I knew it, I didn’t know who the enemy was anymore.  Why are we staining our hands with something like this?”

“There’s no helping it,” Eren sighed, wincing slightly as the screams took on a stomach-churning gurgling sound.  “If we mess up here, all of humanity will be devoured by the Titans, and that’ll be it.  We’re pulling a coup d’etat.  According to Commander Erwin’s strategy, this is probably just the beginning.”

“We’re . . . all rebels now,” Sasha said softly, eyes closed, hands clasped into fists in her lap.  “What will happen if we fail?”

“We’ll probably be hanged,” Jean said flatly, “in the town plaza.”

You kicked him in the shin for that, and he shot you a glare.

“We’re trying to change a system that’s been in place for over 100 years, after all,” Armin said, looking up from where he had his head nestled in his crossed arms.  “There’s no precedent, but . . . shouldn’t we put our efforts into something that will bring the populace to our side?  We need to take advantage of the chaotic situation created by the Titans’ attacks.  If we shifted responsibility to the royal government and then incited the populace . . . maybe we can do it.  But in that event, the citizens will take the blame and any number of tragedies could occur . . . well, when you consider all of humanity, there’s no helping it, is there?  If only we could shift responsibility for some significant event onto the royal government or the military police . . . then we could enter the stage like heroes.  We need to give the impression that the Survey Corps is absolutely necessary . . . then, surely, the populace will be easier to fool.”  The table fell silent, and Armin looked around at you all in slight alarm, blinking confusedly.  A rock had settled in your stomach, and you were resisting the urge to dig your nails into your arms.  All of what he had just said were things that you had been desperately trying not to think about, for once glad that you had a superior to make the decisions for you, and now they were at the forefront of your mind.  The fact that you were trying to overthrow the government without bloodshed, without conflict, without a goddamn civil war erupting under your feet, and the fact that you were trying to retake Wall Maria on the side.  No big deal, really.  

Armin pulled a face.  “I’m just saying . . .”

“Please tell me you weren’t corrupted by that weird pervert,” Jean groaned, looking Armin up and down nervously.  

“Nah, Armin’s been the dark, serious sort all along,” Eren said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, and Connie and Sasha nodded in assent.

“I certainly don’t remember raising him like that,” Mikasa said tonelessly, and you resisted the urge to smile.  

“But . . .,” Armin sighed, expression falling again, “we’re already criminals.  Our current enemies don’t have to be killed because they’re trying to eat us, they’re our enemies just because we think differently.  Simply because our allegiances are different . . . from now on, because of that, we might have to start taking human lives.”  Something in his face cracked, and he crossed his arms again on the table, resting his chin on them to obscure his eyes.  

“We’re . . . not the good guys anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is!!! in terms of chapters we're still somewhere in the mid-fifties, so we have a bit more to go. and we still have to get to the scene where jean almost dies! won't that be fun. 
> 
> i'll see you next time!!! i forget what happens after this chapter. a lot of the manga is one big blur to me now but. what are you gonna do


End file.
